“Penelope. You look lovely, dear.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking my usual spot beside Dad and across from her.
The salad’s already served. I start building mine like armor—boiled eggs, cheese, croutons, pickled onions, and enough red wine vinegar to make my eyes water.
Dad’s talking about some work project when the doorbell rings again. Abi’s fork clinks against the bowl as she stands. “I’ll get it.”
I barely notice. I’m too focused on eating this salad, hoping it hits the spot before she serves whatever the fuck is in the giant pot in the middle of the table.
Voices drift in from the foyer—Abi’s soft lilt, then a deeper tone that has me looking at my dad and then to the opening to the dining room. Abi walks back in, smiling that same perfect hostess smile, and behind her?—
What. The. Hell.
Talon.
Standing there in my dad’s house like this is just a normal weekday dinner.
My fork stalls halfway back to the plate. He looks right at me, grin wide, eyes intrigued, like he knows exactly how impossible this moment is.
I choke on a piece of romaine, cough hard enough my eyes water, and cover it with a napkin. Dad pats my back once, not noticing the sheerwhat the fuckradiating off me.
Abi beams. “Penelope, darling. You know I have two kids from my late husband. Minxy, who’s fourteen and away at junior boarding school—you’ve heard me talk about her. And this—” She gestures toward him with both hands like she’s unveiling a prize. “This is my son, Talon. He just returned to town after a gap year. He’s enrolled at the same university you are! I’m surprised you two haven’t run into each other.”
Oh. My. God.
My mouth opens, but words do not come out. My brain is still rebooting.
Talon. Her son.
Which means?—
We’re going to be stepsiblings.
Fucking hell.
He breaks the silence first, his voice too casual to be anything but calculated. “I think I’ve seen her around, but I wouldn’t have known who she was. Actually… aren’t you in my Sociology class?”
I manage to blink. “Yeah. With Brose. I’m the TA.”
His smirk widens, pure sin and smugness. “Right. That’s where I know you from.”
I grip my fork so tight I’m surprised I don’t bend it in half like Magneto. “Lucky you,” I say, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a threat.
Dad looks between us, oblivious. “Small world, huh?”
Small world.
Tiny. Suffocating. Comically cruel.
Talon slides into the seat diagonally from me, all relaxed confidence and mischief in human form. Abi chats about the salad dressing, Dad reaches for the bread basket, and I sit there silently screaming inside my head.
Because the universe has officially lost its mind.
Chapter Eight
PENELOPE
Dinner isn’t exactly awkward,but there’s a tension under the surface, stretched thin and waiting to break. Abi’s smiling too wide, Dad’s making small talk that doesn’t land, and Talon looks like he’s still trying to figure out what angle he’s gonna play.
