Rafe shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “How about we talk about something that doesn’t sound like the setup to a murder-suicide?”
“Oh, relax,” Lorenzo reaches for his wine again. “If I kill anyone tonight, it’ll be metaphorical.”
My father drains his glass, the crystal clinking against his teeth.
The main course is cleared. Dessert arrives. No one looks particularly thrilled about the soufflé.
My mother picks at hers. “We were thinking of hosting the wedding in the garden, near the fountain. It photographs beautifully.”
“No pictures. And there is no need for a big wedding . . .” Lorenzo says. “The location is ideal, though. We aren’t too close to the ocean. That way, no one will accidentally drown.” He lifts a brow, almost in challenge.
“You mean when you throw someone in,” I mumble under my breath, but he still hears.
His lips twitch. “Accidents do happen.”
I stare at him across the table, nausea rising. “Why are you doing this?”
His expression doesn’t change. “I told you. Consequences.”
“For falling in love with you?” I whisper.
His gaze sharpens. “For walking away.”
The words slice me open.
I look down at my dessert, breath shaky. “You think ruining my family, forcing me into a marriage, taking away my freedom . . . evens us out?”
“I don’t believe in even,” he answers. “I believe in balance.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.” His eyes darken, voice low. “Even is forgiveness. Balance is knowing someone finally feels the weight you’ve been carrying for a years.”
Silence grips the table.
My mother stares at her plate.
My father drinks even more alcohol.
Rafe studies Lorenzo. There is something in his features I can’t read. If I had to guess, it’s worry, but maybe loyalty all tangled into one.
I squeeze my hands together under the table.You’ll survive this. You’re stronger than you think.
A tremor runs up my arm. Am I, though?
Lorenzo must see something in my gaze because he flashes me a warning. One that says whatever you’re thinking about . . . stop.
Too bad for him, he has no control over my thoughts.
My mother lifts her glass to her lips. “To the new family.”
Lorenzo raises his glass. “To mergers.”
I stare back at him, throat burning. “To surviving.”
We drink.
The meal is agonizing and through it all, Lorenzo watches.
