Something about seeing it has my heart clenching with anger, but my girl pats my hand, forcing me to meet her stare. Without saying a word, she gives me a look that conveys to me I should leave it alone.
I really don’t want to, but for her, I do.
“Dinner is almost ready!” Hattie’s mom declares, clapping her hands as she guides us into the adjoining dining room. The long table is set with a roast, all the sides, and a bottle of wine.
“Everything looks great, Mom,” Hattie says, offering her mother a stiff smile.
“Come give me a hand,” is all that woman says in response before turning on her heel and walking into the kitchen.
Hattie and I share a dumbfounded look. But Hattie doesn’t say anything, just pulls out of my embrace—or at least tries to. “You don’t have to go help,” I tell her through gritted teeth. “You aren’t her slave.”
“No, but I’m not going to make her serve them on her own. Look—” She points at her stepfather who has already taken his seat at the head of the table, at Stella and Brad who are moving to their chairs, “—they won’t do it. And I’m not an asshole.”
I sigh. “Let me help.”
She gives me a smile that’s a hell of a lot warmer than the ones she’s been giving her family. It eases some of the irritation rising within me.
Together, we make our way into the kitchen where a bowl of potato mash, some fresh bread, and a casserole sits on the counter.When we enter, Hattie’s mother is getting a pitcher of ice water from the refrigerator.
“Oh, Casper, you don’t need to help. I’m sure Hattie has it,” she says, voice sweet but annoyed.
I shake my head, grab the potatoes and bread, and say, “If she has to help, then so will I. Even if we are guests.”
That has her cheeks turning red. Hattie makes a sound in the back of her throat as she goes to get the casserole, eyes wide when they meet mine.
But she doesn’t chide me, as much as I can tell she wants to.
The dining room is silent when we re-enter with the rest of the food. Stella’s eyes narrow on me, filled with a familiar irritation I came to know all too well in the six weeks we were together. Brad has the audacity to at least look a little uncomfortable. And Mr Gibson…
He just doesn’t care, though that shouldn’t surprise me at all.
When we’re all finally seated and the food starts getting passed around, the tension seems to thicken. I take anything handed to Hattie and fill both our plates, much to her amusement—and Stella’s annoyance.
“So,” Mr Gibson says, breaking the awkward silence. “Has Stella told you about her plans for the wedding venue yet?”
I almost roll my eyes, but Hattie sets her fork down. “No, she hasn’t.”
There’s a smug little smile on Stella’s face as she shrugs. “Well, I was thinking, since you won’t be the photographer, maybe you could help pitch in,” she says, cocking her head. “As a wedding gift.”
Both Hattie and I stiffen, and even Brad looks a little uncomfortable. “Uh…”
“I washopingwe could get a family discount for the venue,” Stella continues, fluttering her lashes at me, “but it doesn’t seem like Foster wants to budge.”
I drop my fork and sit back. “That’s because you aren’t family,” I tell her, smile stiff.
“But we used to be so close, Casper. Come on.” She pouts, leaning forward. “Don’t you remember?”
Unfortunately, I did. Six horrible weeks. Six weeks that stole my best friend away from me all because I’d wanted to protect her from the woman sitting across from us.
They were six weeks of hell. Of failure.
“We were never close,” I tell Stella, voice firm. Under the table, I take Hattie’s hand. “Unless you countcoercionas close.”
That has the table exploding; Stella’s father snaps at me, Hattie’s mother gasps, and even Brad turns to Stella with wide eyes. But I don’t care about any of their reactions. I turn to Hattie, who is watching me with tears shining in her eyes.
“What?” she asks, but I shake my head.
“Not here,” I mutter, tossing my napkin on the table. “Thanks for dinner, but we’re leaving. You don’t get to disrespect Hattie like that. Not anymore. And definitely not in front of me.”
