Kate hums around a mouthful of food, completely oblivious to the war waging between her father and me. “When I get back, we’ll go to that rooftop bar again, okay? Girls’ night. No assistants, no bosses, no men. Just us.”
Her words cut deeper than she knows. No men. As if I haven’t already let myself drown in the one man I shouldn’t have touched.
I nod, because that’s what I do—pretend. Pretend it doesn’t feel like Dean’s stare is a brand pressed to my skin, burning me alive. Pretend my hands aren’t shaking as I lift the cup to my lips. Pretend I’m not terrified of what’s going to happen when she’s gone and it’s just us left in this house full of silence and sin.
The clink of cutlery is too loud in the bright dining room, echoing between us like a secret trying to break free. Dean’s fork scrapes across porcelain, measured, steady. Mine just hovers, my croissant torn to shreds on the plate, untouched.
Kate, of course, is eating like she hasn’t seen food in days. She talks between bites, words spilling out as easily as the orange juice into her glass.
“Okay, but we have to plan the next trip properly. Like, I don’t want another last-minute thing where we’re scrambling. I’m thinking Italy? Or maybe Greece. Can you imagine us on a yacht? Sunburnt, drunk, annoying everyone with our karaoke?”
I force a laugh, but it comes out thinner than I mean it to. “Sounds… perfect.”
She doesn’t notice. She never does. She just keeps going, fork in one hand, gesturing wildly with the other.
“Brooklyn, don’t you think Dad would look ridiculous on a yacht? Like, tux in the sun, glaring at all the twenty-something’s in their bikinis.”
Dean doesn’t even glance her way. He’s still watching me. Only me.
I stab at my plate, the food turning to ash in my mouth. The silence between us hums louder than Kate’s teasing, thick as smoke.
She finally catches the edge in the air and squints. “You guys are so quiet this morning. It’s freaking me out. Did you fight or something?”
My chest tightens. Dean doesn’t blink, doesn’t break the stare. I swallow hard, shaking my head. “No. Just tired.”
Kate snorts. “Lame excuse, but fine. I’ll carry the team’s energy.” She pops another bite of crepe into her mouth, sighing like she’s in heaven. “God, Dad, you should open a restaurant or something. Forget the empire; just feed people. They’d worship you.”
The sharp curve of his mouth is almost a smile, but not quite. “I already have more than enough people who worship me.”
The words were not meant for her. They’re meant for me. I feel them slide beneath my skin like a blade.
Kate doesn’t hear the weight in his voice. She just laughs, wiping powdered sugar from her fingers. “Classic Dad. So dramatic all the time.
I shift in my chair, thighs pressing together under the table as if I can press the memory of last night away. His hand between my legs. His mouth on my throat. His voice rasping good girl until I shattered.
My cup is empty. I pour more coffee just to have something to do, but my hand shakes enough that the liquid nearly spills.
Kate groans. “Ugh, I don’t even want to leave now. This is too good. Why is it you only make the fancy stuff when I’m about to go?”
“Because I know how to make an exit,” Dean replies smoothly, eyes never leaving mine.
The room feels smaller. Hotter. I can’t breathe.
Kate rolls her eyes, shoving another piece of food into her mouth. “Whatever. Brooklyn, tell him he’s ridiculous.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t say a word. Not with him watching me like that. Not with his daughter sitting right there, smiling like we aren’t both drowning in something she can’t even name.
The smell of butter and sugar lingers in the air, clinging to the sunlight that pours through the tall windows. Dean sets his knife down with deliberate precision, the metal glinting before it rests flat against the edge of his plate. He hasn’t eaten much, just enough to make it look like he has. He doesn’t need to. He feeds on something else entirely.
Kate doesn’t notice, too busy licking a smear of raspberry jam from her thumb. “Seriously though, Brooklyn, you’re staying, right? Dad said you’d still be helping him with the company over the summer.”
My fork stills midair. Heat crawls up the back of my neck as his gaze slices into me across the table.
“Yes,” I manage, softer than I intend. “Just for the summer.”
Dean tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows that’s a lie.
Kate beams. “Good! Then you can keep him from brooding. He does that too much when I’m gone. Don’t you, Dad?”
