“Mmm. Delicious.”
Abi beams. “Isn’t it?”
“Delightful,” I lie, chasing it with a big sip of wine.
Dad politely pokes at his plate, then redirects the conversation to work. Talon just grins, watching me over the rim of his glass. His eyes say everything he can’t in front of our parents.You hate it. I know you hate it.
I glare at him, a quiet warning that better translate todon’t start with me.
He winks.
Abi starts talking about house listings, and my dad humors her, nodding while his fingers tap against his glass, slow and uneven. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s a faint pull between his brows, the kind that only shows up when he’s trying to be agreeable but already counting the seconds until the conversation ends.
I stab another piece of lettuce, jaw tight enough to make the fork squeak against the plate. This house might not be perfect anymore, but it’s the last piece of what my family used to be. I’m not letting her paint over that.
Abi raises her glass. “To new beginnings.”
I clink mine out of habit and think,God help us if she’s right.
The monkfish sits heavy in my stomach, but the wine helps. And as I smile through another bite, one thought sticks like a thorn at the back of my mind?—
If this is what family dinner looks like now, I might need stronger liquor next time.
TALON
No way in hell did I expectthis.
When my mom said I had to come to dinner to meet her fiancé, I thought I was in for another one of her “be polite and make a good impression” nights. I didn’t think I’d be staring across the table ather.
Penelope.
The new stepsister—or I guessalmoststepsister.
It should feel wrong. Probably does to any man with decent morals. But watching her now, knowing what I know—what I’veseen—sets my pulse climbing fast. She’s got this calm, composed thing going on, like she belongs in some picture-perfect family dinner scene, except I know exactly what she looks like when she’s not calm.
When she’s holding a crop, voice low and shaking, eyes glossy through a half-mask while she barks orders at me like I’m her goddamn toy.
The memory hits like a punch, and yeah, I feel myself getting hard right here at the table, in the dress slacks I wore to make my mom happy.Fucking great.
I knew Chad had a daughter, but I figured she’d be Minxy’s age. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Not this. Not a blonde bombshell with tan skin, hair that looks like spun gold, and eyes that could make a man confess to sins he hasn’t even committed yet. Her mouth’s all pink gloss and trouble, her outfit hugging curves I can recall from memory alone.
She smiles politely, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and I swear my chest tightens.
Mom’s talking about how “family dinners” are so important—but her words fade into background noise. My attention’s across the table, watching Penelope swirl her fork through her salad like she’s somewhere else entirely.
I clear my throat before I can stop myself. “So, Penelope,” I say, trying to sound casual. “What are you majoring in? I know you’re a TA in Sociology, but what’s your focus?”
Her head lifts, eyes catching mine. The corner of her mouth curves just enough to soften her face, not wide enough to show teeth—just a quiet flicker of warmth that feels more honest than anything else at this table. “I’m studying to be a social worker.”
My mom clears her throat. “It’s such a low-paying and thankless job,” she says with that tight voice she uses when she’s pretending to be supportive. “I do wish you’d consider something else, something moreworthyof yourself. Like Talon. He’s studying computer science. He’s going to be a software architect.”
I drop my fork a little too loudly, but Mom doesn’t notice. She keeps going, voice syrupy sweet.
“You could be a political scientist,” she suggests, gesturing with her glass. “Study government and policy. You’d make an excellent Olivia Pope.”
Penelope’s jaw tightens, but her smile stays intact. “Thank you, Abi, but I’m quite set on becoming a child welfare specialist and bereavement social worker.”
She looks at me and continues. “My mom was a therapist. She worked with kids and families going through loss. I used to watch her help people and color with the kids who came in. I guess… I’m trying to do what she did.”
