"Creative writing?" Richard's eyebrows rise slightly. "I thought you were studying business."
Shit.
"I am," I say quickly. "It's just an elective. For the humanities requirement."
Richard makes a noncommittal sound. I can feel Atlas's gaze on me, curious. When I risk a glance, he's leaning back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of Zero’s, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the wood. The posture is casual, but his eyes are anything but.
Zero's watching too, though his gaze feels more like a scalpel than a spotlight. He's stopped eating entirely, knife and fork set down, his tattooed forearm resting on the edge of the table.
"What do you write about?" Bane asks.
I look up, startled. It's the first time he's initiated conversation with me since... since my room. Since the kiss. His expression is carefully neutral, but he's leaning forward slightly,elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of him. I can see the tendons shifting beneath his skin as his fingers tighten.
"Fiction, mostly. Short stories." I push a green bean around my plate. "Character studies. People in difficult situations."
"Like what kind of situations?"
Bane's thumb traces over his opposite knuckle. Back and forth. A small, restless movement that draws my eye.
I shrug, uncomfortable with the attention. "I-I don't know. People trying to figure out where they belong. People keeping secrets."
The words land heavier than I intended. Zero's hand curls into a fist on the table, then deliberately uncurls, fingers spreading flat against the wood.
"Secrets," Richard repeats, his tone sharpening. "Interesting subject matter."
"It's just fiction," I mumble.
Margot clears her throat. "Richard, didn't you say you wanted to talk to the boys about the summer? About the trip?"
Richard looks like he wants to pursue the previous thread, but Margot's hand finds his arm, a gentle redirection. He sighs.
"Right. The trip." He addresses the table at large. "Margot and I have been discussing a family vacation. Somewhere we can all spend time together. Get to know each other better."
"A vacation," Zero says flatly. "All of us."
He picks up his wine glass—aggressive, almost challenging—and drains half of it in one swallow. A drop escapes, trailing down his bottom lip. His tongue darts out to catch it.
Heat shoots straight to my groin.
I shift in my seat, horrified, feeling myself thicken against my thigh.No. Not here. Not now. I press my knees togetherunder the table, will my body to behave, but it's like trying to hold back a tide with my bare hands.
I look away so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
"That's generally what 'family vacation' implies, yes."
"I have work," Atlas says. His fingers have stopped drumming. Now they're wrapped around the stem of his wine glass, turning it slowly, the dark liquid catching the candlelight. "The Carrington merger is—"
"Can be handled by your team for a week," Richard cuts in. "I've already spoken with Davidson. He's prepared to cover."
Atlas's expression doesn't change, but I see the flicker of irritation in his eyes. His grip on the wine glass tightens—just slightly, just enough that I notice. Richard just went over his head. In front of everyone.
"I think it sounds lovely," Margot says, squeezing Richard's arm. "We could rent a house somewhere. The coast, maybe. Or the mountains. Somewhere peaceful where we can all just... be together."
"Be together," Zero echoes. There's something dark in his voice. He tilts his head, exposing the sharp line of his jaw, the pale column of his throat. "Like a real family."
"Zero." Atlas's warning is quiet but clear. He shifts in his chair, and his knee bumps the table, making the silverware rattle.
"What? I'm just clarifying." Zero finally looks up, and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. His gaze slides to me—holds for one heartbeat, two—before returning to Richard. "Dad wants us to play happy family. I want to make sure I understand the assignment."
