Preston drops his spoon. He looks delighted.
Catherine turns slowly to look at me. Her expression is one of polite horror.
"State care," she repeats. "How... industrious of you."
"Jax put himself through medical school on the GI Bill," Maxwell says. His voice is tight, but loud. "He graduated top of his class."
"I’m sure the standards were rigorous at the State College he attended," Catherine says dismissively. She rings a tiny bell. "Clear the plates."
"But I haven't finished my implication," I mutter.
The servers rush in, whisking away the foam.
The main course arrives. Duck. It looks complicated. There are four different forks next to my plate.
I know which one to use. I watched a YouTube video in my living room before leaving to pick up Maxwell. But I look at Catherine. She is watching me like a hawk, waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for me to prove I don't belong here.
I smile.
I pick up the tiny dessert fork.
I stab the duck with it.
Catherine’s eyes widen. It is a breach of culinary etiquette so profound it physically pains her.
"Dr. O'Connell," she says, her voice dripping with venom. "I believe you have confused the cutlery."
I pause, duck halfway to my mouth. "Have I?"
Beside me, there is movement.
Maxwell York—the man who organizes his pens by color, the man who lives for order—picks up his dessert fork.
He stabs his duck.
He takes a bite.
"This fork works perfectly well, Mother," Maxwell sayscalmly. He looks at me. His eyes are burning with a quiet, fierce rebellion.
The table goes silent.
Preston lets out a snort of laughter that he turns into a cough. Alistair looks amused. Catherine looks like she is having a stroke.
"I see," Catherine whispers. "It seems standards have fallen across the board."
I look at Maxwell. He is eating his duck with the wrong fork, his posture perfect, his face blank. But under the table, his hand finds my knee. He squeezes hard.
I have never wanted to kiss him more than I do right now.
"I need air."
We haven't even made it to dessert. Maxwell stands up abruptly. "Jax and I are stepping out for a moment."
"Sit down, Maxwell," Catherine snaps. "We haven't had the tart."
"I don't want the tart," Maxwell says. "I want to breathe."
He grabs my arm and drags me out of the room.
