on duty and speeches
Chapter 5
Author’s Note:
This is a series. Start from the top here:
And, if you missed it, here’s the previous chapter:
Rose stood at the far end of the ballroom, away from the flow of bodies and shushed talk.
Her fingers moved furiously across her phone screen. She hadn’t stopped texting since she stormed away from Darius — which she preferred to ignore until she dealt with the more imminent disaster.
The message history with Iris was a sea of blue bubbles.
Are you coming?
Please tell me you’re not serious.
Need I remind you Dad’s not here this year?
Iris.
Iris, pick up.
You can’t skip this.
The last message hung, unanswered, glaring like an accusation.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she typed again.
Where are you?
She deleted it.
Rewrote it.
Sent it anyway.
The phone buzzed. For a second, relief sparked — until she read the reply:
Forwarding my speech. Airplane mode, busy.
Jaw clenched, she opened the forwarded document.
It glared back at her — bright, sterile, exactly what she’d expected: clinical and cold. Devoid of any feeling.
But Rose had one — a hunch. That Iris wasn’t busy with work. But rather with someone she kept returning to.
She typed:
You’re throwing your life away for a man who’s just having his midlife crisis.
Her thumb hovered over Send. Someone had to be the preacher. Even if she was the younger sister.
She pressed it.
No reply.
Rose exhaled as she scrolled to another contact and typed a new message:
Can you still bring them?
She locked the phone and shoved it into her clutch. No time to sob.
Instead, she went to the kitchen.
Chaos — as it always was with big events.
Steam hissed from open ovens, trays clattered, and staff moved like clockwork, weaving around one another.
In the middle of it all was Violet.
Short, sharp, and wearing her signature purple streaked hair tied back in a ponytail.
She was orchestrating the chaos like a general on the battlefield. Leaned over a staff member’s shoulder, she corrected his platter arrangement, before grabbing a clipboard to rattle off instructions to someone else.
Rose lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching her. She loved how effortless leadership looked on her best friend.
When their eyes met, Violet raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” she said — without any actual heat.
Rose stepped forward, grabbing a canapé off a tray. “She’s not coming,” she said, popping the bite into her mouth.
Violet’s eyes narrowed, and she slapped Rose’s hand away from the food. “Elliot again?”
Rose nodded, chewing. “Probably.”
“Figures.” Violet shook her head.
Rose hesitated, leaning against the counter. “Would it be crazy if you held the speech?”
Violet froze mid-reach, her hand hovering over a stack of glasses.
She turned slowly, pointing to herself in disbelief. “Me?”
Then, with the same finger, she pointed at Rose — her eyebrows climbing like they were trying to escape her face. “Projecting much?”
Rose shrugged. “I’ve never done it.”
“Neither has Iris,” Violet shot back.
“Yes, but she’s the Chair of the company,” Rose argued. “I’m just a Bailey. I’m not… part of Dynamic, or a businesswoman, or whatever.”
Violet rolled her eyes, grabbed a tray, and thrust it at a passing server.
“But you direct the foundation. That’s what the event is about.”
Violet was right.
Even so, Rose’s dad had always been the public speaker of the family. He knew exactly when to drop a joke or play the crowd.
His first year of retirement — Iris was supposed to fill his shoes.
Maybe Rose had the foundation. But, at its core, it was Dynamic’s face saver. And Iris was in dire need of face-saving.
Rose’s phone chimed. She glanced down.
Hi, Rose, sure, but I need 20 minutes to get them ready.
Her heart gave a small, unexpected flutter — but she kept her face neutral as she countered, “It’s about public image.”
“One that Iris is fighting to ruin.”
“Vi…”
“No, listen,” Violet interrupted, turning to face her fully. “I never say anything because it’s none of my business, but I can’t stand her. She’s as reckless as she is ungrateful.”
Rose huffed — half amused, half defensive. Violet could rarely hide what she felt or thought. Her face was a window for them. And her mouth caught up quickly.
She suppressed her comments about Iris for a lot longer than expected — twenty years of friendship, to be exact.
“We’re rich people’s kids. Isn’t that our job?” Rose joked.
“When has it ever been yours?” Violet squinted, like she was digging up distant memories. “The worst you ever did was trash Darius.”
Rose flinched, briefly — remembering his delirious request, as if she heard it in a dream.
“What, should I get the mandatory DUI, then?” she asked.
Violet scoffed. “Iris checked that box.”
“She’s my sister,” Rose said — firmer than intended.
Violet sighed, her voice softening. “I might be an only child, so maybe I don’t get it—” She paused, pressed her lips together. But still went on: “You might be her sister, but she sure as hell isn’t yours.”
Rose’s lips parted, but she didn’t have a reply. The words hit somewhere deep—somewhere she wasn’t ready to look.
So she pivoted.
“How’s Cassian?”
Violet’s crossed arms shifted into a self-hug. She squeezed her own arms and sighed.
“I have no idea.”
Rose had suspected the answer would land somewhere in that ballpark. Still, she’d hoped.
They’d been married forever. She always thought they’d be one of those couples giving advice on how to survive sixty years together.
But for the past months, all they seemed to do was find reasons to fight.
Maybe the Swain brothers were more alike than they’d ever admit.
Violet shook her head. “What now?”
Rose threw an arm around her, pressing Violet’s face into her chest. “I want you to hype them up a little. I’ll thank Ivory and Lace for the event planning,” she said quickly. “You take it from there. Free advertising, go on about wedding cakes... Keep the room alive while I bring the kids.”
Violet hugged her back. “Didn’t you drop that?”
Rose shrugged, breaking the hug. “Iris is the one who said no.”
Rose’s phone buzzed. Violet glanced at it, then turned back to the kitchen — the sadness still pressed into the corners of her mouth.
Rose didn’t want to leave yet — but she only gave Violet a light pat on the back and headed for the exit.
The parking lot was dark and quieter than the chaos inside. A black van idled by the curb, and Rose jogged toward it.
The side door slid open, and she crouched down as the kids tumbled out — their voices a blur of excitement and nerves.
“You’re all perfect,” she said, smoothing one girl’s dress and fixing a boy’s crooked bowtie.
“Just like we practiced, okay? Stick together, hold hands if you need to, and smile. You got this!”
Miss Jess — who all the little anxious faces looked to — huffed as she stepped out after the last kid.
She greeted Rose with a big, tired smile.
One of the younger boys looked at her, brow furrowed. “What if they don’t like us?”
Rose’s chest tightened. She rested a hand on his shoulder.
“They’ll love you,” she said softly. “Just be yourselves.”
A few minutes later, Rose stood at the podium, the heat of the stage lights pressing down on her.
Behind, the children stood in a neat line, fidgeting. Their small faces were lit up, but she could see their nerves in the way they clutched each other’s hands.
The murmurs and clinking glasses faded as the room settled and hundreds of eyes fixed on her.
“Thank you again for joining us tonight,” she began. “ As you know, this gala has been a Bailey family tradition for years. We hold it as a chance to reflect on the impact we’ve been making together. But tonight, I’d like to make it more personal.”
She turned, glancing back at the children before facing the audience again. “For most of us, home was always given. It’s a foundation, a place to feel safe, to grow, to dream. But for so many children, home is… temporary, unstable, broken. Sometimes, it doesn't exist.”
Her breath caught, but she pushed through. “That’s why this charity exists — not just to provide shelter, but to build homes. Places that are warm and filled with care. Where these kids can grow up surrounded by love, dignity, and a sense of belonging.”
The crowd was quiet, the weight of her words settling over them. Rose exhaled softly, her eyes scanning the room.
“And tonight,” she continued, her voice softening, “I want you to hear it directly from the ones who matter most. The ones this foundation is all about.”
She turned toward the children, crouching slightly as she handed the microphone to a small boy at the end of the line. He was no older than eight, his suit slightly too big for his frame.
He looked at her, wide-eyed, and she gave him an encouraging nod.
He stepped forward and began into the microphone — his voice trembling but clear. “Hello, I’m Mateo,” he said, with an endearing lisp. “And my favorite thing about my new home is the garden. We planted tomatoes, and they’re huge now. Bigger than my hands.” He spread his hands wide, earning a chuckle from the crowd. “I like helping take care of the plants, and… and it makes me happy to watch them grow.”
The audience applauded warmly, and Rose smiled as she guided the mic to the next child.
A girl with curly hair stepped up, her chin held high despite the nervous way she fidgeted with her dress. “My name’s Kendra,” she said. “And I love the art room. There’s paint, and markers, and clay. I made a sculpture of a butterfly for the window, and Miss Jess said it was really good.”
One by one, the children stepped forward to share their favorite parts of their new home — and the applause grew louder with each tiny speech.
The kitchen where they all learned to bake cookies together.
The backyard where they played soccer until the sun went down.
The bunk beds they’d decorated with stickers and blankets, making each space their own.
Each story hit Rose deeper. When the last child finished, she took the microphone back. She breathed through the moment.
“Thi is what your generosity makes possible. Not just roofs or walls, but homes that make children feel safe. And they're allowed to grow, dream, and create memories that last forever.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room. “I’ve had the privilege of visiting these homes, seeing firsthand the joy they bring. And I can tell you with certainty that every dollar, every ounce of support — makes a difference. You aren’t just changing lives — you’re building them.”
The applause filled the room with its warmth. Rose stepped back slightly, gesturing for the children to join her at the front of the stage.
The oldest boy, around ten, stepped forward and took the microphone. He looked out at the crowd, a little more confident than the others. “Thank you,” he said simply, his voice steady. “For giving us a place to call home. We won’t waste it.”
The applause became thunderous, and Rose stood there, the children gathered around her. For the first time that night, the tightness in her chest eased.
It wasn’t about Iris.
Or their father.
Or even the Bailey name.
It was about the kids, their smiles and their stories.
And in that moment, it felt real.
The buzz of it stayed with her, long after the guests left.
In the kitchen, the chaos continued.
Plates clattered into sinks, scraps of food were shoved into bins, and laughter bounced between the walls as the staff finally relaxed.
Rose leaned over the long stainless-steel counter, elbows planted, a plate of half-eaten pasta sitting cold in front of her.
Niamh had joined the group not too long before.
She sat on a stool near the counter, her black curls spilling over one shoulder as she leaned her head against Rose’s.
She said nothing.
Her sharp features were softened by the disappointment she’d carried for the past half-month.
She never complained — but Rose could feel the weight of it lodged between her ribs.
Both hers, and Niamh’s.
The younger kids chattered loudly, euphoric from being up too long.
Violet was perched on a stool nearby, balancing a cupcake in one hand and a clipboard in the other, directing cleanup like she was still on duty.
“This is so past my bedtime,” Kendra announced, flopping onto the counter as if the weight of exhaustion was physically pulling her down.
“You don’t even have a bedtime,” one of the older boys shot back, smirking.
“I do too! Miss Jess said midnight is the latest, and it’s definitely past that!”
“You’re not even tired!” Mateo grumbled, his voice muffled as he rested his cheek against the freezer door.
Miss Jess grinned. “Alright, alright. Enough debates. You’ll all fall asleep in the van if we don’t get going soon.”
“But there’s cookies,” Kendra said, pointing dramatically at a tray being carried to the sink.
“Take one for the road,” Violet called over her shoulder, not bothering to look up from the clipboard she was furiously scribbling on.
The kids didn’t need to be told twice. A flurry of small hands descended on the tray, crumbs scattering in their wake.
Rose chuckled, watching them.
The laughter, the stolen cookies, the sleepy smiles — it made her feel alive.
“Okay, herd of chaos. Let’s go,” Miss Jess, called out. The kids groaned in protest but shuffled toward the door, cookies clutched in their hands.
The door creaked shut behind Rose, and the noise faded.
Only the sound of running water and the clatter of dishes remained.
She waited a beat, building up to whatever she’d say to Niamh.
“How was tonight?”
Niamh just shrugged. Scratched her nose before adding,
“The kids were really cute on stage.”
The door creaked again.
Violet cleared her throat — cutting Rose off before she could think of something to lift Niamh’s mood.
One look at Violet’s face told her something was off. She followed her stare.
Darius stood in the doorway — no tie, no blazer.
One hand on the door.
The other holding a piece of veil from the decorations.
He was staring straight at Rose.
“So… not tearing them up anymore?”