BROKEN GLASS HOUSES
CHAPTER 1

 

     I deserved this. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t chase the recognition . . . maybe I did. No, let’s be honest, I absolutely did. I loved the spotlight. I loved when people noticed, when they said I was exceptional, when they couldn’t look away. Tonight was mine. All mine. Every eye in Cypress Ridge’s elite circle would turn toward me, every glass raised with one purpose . . . to celebrate me . . . Mrs. Parker Montgomery. I was born for the spotlight. Well, maybe not born for it, but raised to crave it.

     And yet, beneath the flawless makeup, something inside me felt off. I eventually chalked it up to nerves, though that made no sense. The spotlight never made me nervous. So why tonight? My fingers tightened around the clutch in my lap, and I had to force myself to ease my grip. It felt like the kind of alertness you got when you heard a door creak in a house you thought was empty.

     The cameras flashed before I stepped out of the car. I waited one extra beat. Then, when I felt the time was just right, I tapped on the window, signaling to the driver that I was ready. Once the door swung open, I stepped out, letting my heel click against the pavement like a signature.

     Every head turned as Carlos helped me from the car, his hand resting tenderly at the small of my back. He was a man who drew second glances without even trying. Tall, strong, and quietly captivating are the words I’d used to describe him. But the one thing that mattered to me was that every inch of him, every look, every touch, and everything in between belonged to me. And tonight, with cameras hungry and eyes sharp, I needed that belonging like armor.

     “Smile, baby,” he whispered, brushing my shoulder. “This is your night.”

     And it was. I smoothed the skirt of my gown for the fifth time. My heart was unsteady, tapping too fast against my ribs. A nagging thought flickered: What if something goes wrong? I dismissed it, but it kept coming back.

     I exhaled as I stepped onto the red carpet, flanked by spotlights and admiration. Tonight signified everything I’d ever wanted—family, respect, and legacy. I was living proof that a girl could rebuild her story from broken pieces and make it look like art.

     No one here knew who I used to be. And that was exactly how I liked it. Not because I was ashamed of reinvention. Cypress Ridge loved a comeback story. But they only loved the kind that came with a neat beginning, a respectable middle, and a happily ever after tied in satin ribbon. My beginning didn’t come in ribbon. It came in survival.

     This wasn’t just any gala. The Woman of the Year Award was presented by the Louisiana Legacy Foundation, an organization that raised millions for education, housing, and youth across the state. I was chosen because of the work I did with my nonprofit, Second Story, a mentoring program Carlos and I founded three years ago to serve foster youth aging out of the system. Carlos and I have always known how blessed we are. Not every child grows up in a home with loving parents who nurture their gifts the way mine did. And not every child has grandparents who build a legacy like Carlos’s grandfather did with Montgomery Motors, a chain of luxury dealerships that Carlos’s father ran with his father, and now Carlos‌ runs with his father.

     Compliments flowed as we walked through the crowd. I smiled graciously. I laughed, but never too loud and never too much. Just enough to say I belonged here. Belonging was a performance, too, if you did it long enough.

     Carlos and I reached the step and repeat, and I turned slightly, giving the camera my left side, the one I always preferred.

     “Parker, who are you wearing?” someone called out.

     I felt like I was in Hollywood instead of downtown Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

     “Trystan Elliot,” I said with a soft wave. “He’s local, and y’all should check him out.”

     I answered each question effortlessly. I didn’t need notes or prompts. I’d been trained for this life. Mom had made sure of it by enrolling my sister, Avis, and me in etiquette classes, cotillion rehearsals, and summer charm school to ensure we were proper Southern ladies. I hadn’t appreciated it then, but tonight I felt every curtsy, every correction, every “yes, ma’am” woven into the way I carried myself.

     After pictures, Carlos and I made our way into the hotel ballroom. When the doors opened, I placed my hand over my chest and gasped. My team had really outdone themselves. The entire ballroom glittered. The high ceilings, candlelit centerpieces, and velvet-covered chairs looked fit for royalty. My team had worked tirelessly on the layout, and like me, they didn’t do anything halfway. If I was going to be honored, the room had to match the moment, and I must say it certainly did.

     “Everything is so beautiful,” I said as Carlos and I walked farther into the ballroom. We were surrounded by people who wore success like cologne. Judges, doctors, socialites, old-money families who had now decided I was one of their own. They complimented the decor and asked about my firm and whether I’d be designing the governor’s Christmas gala again this year.

     Guests waved and nodded, and a few raised their wineglasses as Carlos and I passed. We made our way to the front of the room, where my mother stood beside my father, already teary-eyed. Avis stood next to our mom, grinning from ear to ear in a floor-length emerald-green dress that accented her caramel skin beautifully. Onlookers might have thought that Avis was smiling out of pride. Only the two of us knew she was smiling because she’d won twenty dollars from our bet on when Mom would start crying: I said once she saw me, and Avis said it’d happen before. Judging by the puffiness of her eyes, Avis was right.

     I hugged my mom. “You cannot take pictures with those red eyes,” I whispered in her ear.

     “It’s lovely to see you, too, dear,” she said after our air-kisses. Her tight tone matched her posture. That was an indication that she didn’t appreciate my advice. I was used to that look just as she was used to my nitpicking.

     A waiter stopped next to us and offered champagne. I took a glass but only sipped. All I needed was a little sparkle on the tongue. Just enough to relax my nerves. I turned the stem of the glass slowly between my fingers, as if the motion could keep me calm. It didn’t. My eyes flicked to the ballroom doors as if waiting for something to happen. Or maybe it was someone.

     Our children—Noelle, fifteen, and Mason, ten—found us right before the ceremony started.

     “You look stunning, Mom,” Noelle, my mini-me, said, smiling with pride.

     “Thank you, sweetie. So do you.” I was still trying to accept the fact that my baby had hips and boobs.

     I moved away from my family and slipped back into the crowd, mingling . . . though really it was networking. I’d learned long ago to take advantage of wealth and influence gathered in one room. That was when I spotted Carmen and her husband, Deon, making their way through the ballroom. Carmen’s floor-length navy gown shimmered beneath the chandeliers. Her natural poise drew many eyes. Carmen and I had been almost inseparable since fate paired us together our freshman year at Southern University. I said almost because there were those dreadful ten years when they moved to New Orleans. Carmen had had it in her head that after they were married, since Deon was still in medical school at Tulane, it was important for her to move to be with her husband. I had tried to convince her that her thoughts were ludicrous and all she needed was me, but of course, that speech hadn’t worked, and I’d had no choice but to watch my best friend move an hour and a half away from me. Luckily, Deon had started a surgical group here in Cypress Ridge four years ago, and I’d gotten my best friend back. Not only was she my best friend; she was also my next-door neighbor. It didn’t get any better than that.

     “There you are,” Carmen said as soon as she reached me, her smile so wide it made her eyes glisten. Unlike everyone else, who greeted me with a light hug or a polite handshake, Carmen pulled me into one of her signature tight hugs. The kind that folded you in completely, pressed the air from your lungs, and made it clear that you were loved, whether you liked it or not. I did, by the way. I liked it a lot.

     “Look at you, Parker Montgomery,” she whispered against my cheek. “Woman of the year. I couldn’t be a prouder best friend.”

     I laughed, smoothing my gown as she pulled back. “You realize you’ve said that since forever. Everything I do makes you proud, according to you.”

     “Because you’re amazing.” She tilted her head to the side, and her eyes glistened.

     “Don’t you dare start.” I pointed at her. “You know if you start crying, then I’ll start, then we’ll both be a blubbering mess.” I laughed.

     “You’re right.” She widened her eyes and fanned away the tears.

     My attention went from Carmen to Deon. “Hi, Deon.” I hugged my best friend’s husband, who also happened to be my husband’s best friend.

     “It’s okay, I’m used to being ignored when the two of you are together,” Deon teased, leaning down and kissing me on the cheek.        “And might I add that both of you ladies look absolutely stunning.”

     “Thank you, honey.” Carmen blushed.

     I loved that Deon still had that effect on her after all these years.

     One of our favorite stories was how the four of us came to be. People were always amazed when they heard that it was Deon and I who were set up on a blind date. Ten seconds in and we both knew it wouldn’t work. I was too high strung, and he didn’t push back. He was very peaceful, which I thought I wanted, since my early life had been everything but peaceful. However, I needed more. During our date we talked about our best friends. His friend Carlos sounded like someone I’d be interested in, and Carmen was just his speed. We planned a double date where we’d introduce each other to our best friends.

     “Ah, there you are.” Carlos greeted Deon and Carmen, then slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him. I had to admit, my husband had the same effect on me.

     “We’d better get seated.” Carlos kissed my temple before guiding me forward, his hand steady at the small of my back. Together we wove through the crowd, stopping here and there to exchange smiles and greetings, until at last we reached our table at the front. The lights dimmed just enough to signal the evening was about to begin, and a hush of anticipation rippled through the ballroom.

     For the past five years, I’d sat in this very ballroom for the Louisiana Legacy Foundation’s gala, watching other women receive this honor. Every year the event grew bigger and better, but this year it was different. This year, it was my turn.

     I had to admit that the best part of the night, other than seeing the faces of my family beaming with pride, was when each of them took turns at the mic, sharing what made me special to them. After my dad was Carmen.

     “I’ve known Parker for more than twenty-five years,” she began. “We were randomly paired as freshman roommates at Southern University.”

     Claps and cheers filled the room. Cypress Ridge was definitely a Jaguar town. It made sense, since Southern was forty-five minutes away and a lot of their alumni resided in Cypress Ridge.

     “It only took about five minutes for me to figure out that Parker would be the head of the room.”

     More laughter.

     Carmen’s eyes sparkled. “I’d decorated my half to the best of my ability. You know, a poster here, a comforter there. But then Parker walked in with boxes of throw pillows, candles, which were forbidden, but not in Parker’s world,” she joked. “Suddenly my side of the room didn’t stand a chance. Parker was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. After meeting her parents that same day, I saw where that determination came from.” Carmen’s voice softened. “From that day forward, our friendship has grown into something more beautiful and more wonderful with each passing day. I love you, Parker. You’ve always been the woman of the year in my book.” She raised her wineglass, and the whole room followed suit.

     Next up was Carlos. Apparently the program coordinators had saved the best for last. Carlos walked toward the mic, confident and glowing like a man who knew he’d won the lottery.

     “I married up,” he began, and the audience laughed.

     Married up. The words hit me all wrong. For a second I felt the floor shift beneath my heels, like the whole room might tilt and any second all my secrets would come spilling out.

     “But not just because Parker’s beautiful, brilliant, and wildly successful,” Carlos continued. “I married up because she taught me how to build a home, not just buy one.”

     I felt my heart swell. I knew what was coming, but it still unraveled me.

     “She makes the people around her better. She gives, she leads, she creates beauty in everything she touches, because that’s who she is. A light.”

     I blinked quickly to keep the tears from running. No matter how overwhelmed I felt, I couldn’t ruin my makeup.

     Then it was my turn. I stepped up to the mic, the applause still echoing in my ears, my husband’s words settling over me like a warm embrace.

     “Thank you,” I began, steadying my voice as my fingers curled around the edges of the lectern. “Carlos, I know you said you married up, but let’s be honest. I think I’m the lucky one in this relationship.”

     A ripple of laughter. I smiled.

     “Tonight is about so much more than recognition or awards. It’s about gratitude. It’s about the people who pour into you when no one’s watching. People who challenge you, who hold your hand when you’re trying to build something out of nothing, whether that’s a business, family, or yourself.”

     I paused, letting the moment stretch.

     “I believe that what we build matters. Not just what we accomplish, but how we show up. How we make others feel. Whether we create something that lasts long after the lights dim and the applause fades.”

     I looked at Carlos.

     “Thank you for seeing me. For loving the woman I am and the one I’m still becoming. For making our home more than just a place. It’s my peace.”

     After recognizing my parents, my sister, our children, and my in-laws, I turned back to the audience.

     My smile stayed frozen, but my eyes faltered . . . sliding past the front row, past Carlos and the kids, past my parents and Avis. That was when I saw her.

     A woman stood at the edge of my table, half shadowed by the glow of the stage lights, balancing a tray of wine flutes. She flashed a smile that only a proud mother should own. Why was she smiling like that? And a better question was, Why was she here? For a heartbeat I swore my knees might give out.

     I blinked, forcing my gaze back to the audience, back to the applause that swelled around me. My voice found its way out, smooth enough to pass . . . I hoped. “Honored. I’m truly honored.”

     I dipped my head, accepted the ovation, and stepped away from the mic, every step measured, deliberate. But inside I was shaking.

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