But everything has changed.
I grab my phone from the table and escape to my room, my heart hammering against my ribs. The moment the door closes behind me, I sink onto the window seat and read with shaking hands.
Me: We need to talk. CanI come to the cottage?
His response is immediate.
Draco: Always. I'm here.
I grab my jacket—the leather one from vintage shopping that still smells faintly like him—and slip out the back way. The path to the cottage feels longer than usual, every step weighted with dread.
This is a disaster. My parents are going to eat him alive. They're going to test him and judge him and try to prove he's not suitable for the Pembroke heiress. And Draco—God, Draco—he has no idea what he's walking into.
The cottage door opens before I knock. Draco takes one look at my face and pulls me inside.
"What happened?" His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You're shaking."
"My mother found out about you." The words tumble out. "That we've been seeing each other."
"Okay." He guides me to the sofa, sits beside me with our knees touching. "That's… not ideal, but not terrible either. Right?"
"She wants you to come to dinner. Friday night. To meet her and my father properly." I grab his hands. "Draco, this isn't just dinner. It's a test. They're going to try to prove you're not suitable, so I'll end things before we embarrass the family."
Something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or anger—but it's gone before I can name it.
"Not suitable," he repeats flatly. "Because I'm a street performer?"
"Because you're not from their world." I squeeze his hands harder. "They're going to set traps. Probably test your table manners or knowledge of high society or—I don't know. But they'll find something to criticize. It wouldn’t matter who you were. If they didn’t pick you, they’ll arrange for you to fail their test."
Draco is quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes studying my face. "Charity," he says gently. "Look at me."
I meet his eyes, see the steadiness there. The confidence that comes from surviving things my parents can't even imagine.
"I've faced worse than a dinner party," he says, a short huff of amusement breaking through. "Arena crowds. Corrupt officials. Emperors who could have me killed with a gesture." A slight smile tugs at his mouth. "I think I can handle your parents."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand that they're scared." He releases one of my hands to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "They lost one daughter, and they're terrified of losing another. Even if it's just losing you to someone they don't control."
The insight makes my chest tight. "That doesn't make it okay."
"No. But it makes it human." He leans closer, speaks the truth I need to hear. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to go to that dinner. I'm going to be polite and charming and exactly what they expect from someone dating their daughter."
"They're going to try to humiliateyou—"
"Let them try." His smile turns sharp, dangerous. "I've been performing for hostile crowds for years,cara. I know how to work a room.”
I blink at the word. “Cara,” I echo quietly. “What does that mean?”
A small smile pulls at his mouth. “Something you call someone who matters.”
Heat blooms under my skin. “Oh.”
“If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I… like it.”
“Good.” His eyes warm for a heartbeat before his expression sharpens again, focused and certain. “And more importantly—" he cups my face in both hands "—I know how to spot a manipulation when I see one."
