Eleanor’s smile tightened. For a second, the conversation paused.
Then his brother, Drew, slid in, smooth as ever. “Wow, territorial pissing already?” he said, half-laughing, kissing Eleanor’s cheek. “That’s faster than usual. Mila, you look stunning. Claire, come here. You remember Mila, right?”
Claire moved beside him, pale and tense in light-pink silk, clutching her purse like armor. Her gaze met mine—steady, kind, seeing too much.
“Good to see you again.” Her voice was low, careful. Her fingers wrapped around mine—quick, warm. A warning wrapped in grace. Something in her eyes said she understood exactly what it cost to stand here with Luke against his parents.
Grant exhaled through his nose, jaw flexing. “We’ll talk later,” he said to Luke.
“Yeah.” Luke’s tone was calm. Dangerous. “We will.”
A man called Grant’s name from across the room. He turned toward it, the conversation already dismissed. The spotlight shifted with him, and the air between Luke and me finally eased.
Luke’s hand squeezed my waist. “Come on,” he murmured. “We’re not done.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Lorne stood near the entrance, tie black, grin sharper than the edge of his cufflinks. The woman on his arm looked ornamental, her expression bored.
“Lorne,” Luke said.
Lorne’s eyes cut to me. “And this must be Mila Callahan.” He smiled, lazy. “You have your mother’s eyes. I hope they’re finally seeing clearly.”
Cold slid down my spine.
Luke shifted, subtle—his stance angling, hand settling at my hip, body between me and Lorne. Not blocking me. Claiming space.
“Careful,” Luke growled.
Lorne laughed. “Always.”
Then the room’s air thickened again—because Mr. and Mrs. Dunn had arrived.
He didn’t need to raise his voice as he responded to greetings. Presence did the work for him—polished suit, quiet menace. His features carried a pit bull’s intensity, all clenched focus and restrained force. His wife was still stunning, though time had softened the edges. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, his arm looped around her waist as though a tether keeping her upright.
Mr. Dunn lifted his glass. “Luke. Good skate last weekend.”
“Thank you.” Luke’s reply was steady.
Then Dunn looked at me. The smile was polite. The eyes—calculating.
“And this must be Mila Callahan. Your mother’s been helpful too, hasn’t she?”
My throat went dry.
Luke stepped in before I could open my mouth. “And my girlfriend.”
Dunn’s smile didn’t move past his mouth. “Of course. That must be why you’re here.”
That was it. We were public—and to one of the big players. Metal hit the back of my tongue.
Mom appeared at my right, clutch shielding her ribs. “Good evening, Mr. Dunn.” Her voice was smooth, practiced. “Mila and I were just heading for a drink.” She smiled—polite, thin. “Excuse us.”
Luke looked at me with a question in his eyes.
I nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
His thumb brushed my hip as he let go, slow, deliberate. A promise.
