She meets my eyes briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us: I’m here. I can handle this.
I glance at the table. Charlotte is already teasing Lucky about her “hidden talents,” my mother is chattering like she’s hosting the Queen herself, my father is quiet in his usual way, and Lucky matches wits effortlessly, dry sarcasm cutting through the posh banter like a knife.
Lily leans in again, elbow nudging Lucky, whispering, “Can you teach me that other riff later?”
Lucky smirks at her, crouching slightly to Lily’s level. “We’ll see, kid. Only if you promise not to tell your Dad I let you skip homework.”
The table erupts in laughter, Charlotte raising a brow at me, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s orchestrated. I sit back, jaw tight, aware of every flicker of Lucky’s expression, every glance Lily throws, every jab from my family, realizing that despite the mortification, despite the chaos, despite everything… having her here, navigating this with me—even unwillingly—is enough for now.
Chapter 9
Lucky
Awaveoflaughtermoves around the table and it's loud, overlapping, borderline theatrical, and I let myself sink back into my chair. Half amused, half bracing for the next volley of Maddox-family verbal shrapnel. Lily is practically vibrating in her seat, eyes wide and sparkling as she looks between me and Charlotte, as if she’s watching her favorite sitcom unfold in real time. I swear the kid’s about to start selling tickets.
Someone — Ethan’s dad, I think — reaches for the potatoes and accidentally elbows a wineglass, and Charlotte’s dramatic gasp could win an Oscar. Mrs. Maddox pats my hand like I’ve survived something noble just by sitting here. It’s chaos wrapped in good china.
I steal a glance at Ethan.
He’s leaning forward just slightly, that quiet, coiled posture like he’s ready to step in if Charlotte so much as breathes too deeply in my direction. His jaw is tight, eyes cutting between her and me with laser precision. Protective. Subtle, but impossible to miss.
And I feel it — not just see it — in the way his shoulders tense, in how his hand hovers a little too close to the edge of the table like he’s ready to… I don’t know… intercept something. Shield me. Drag his sister bodily away if necessary.
I straighten the napkin on my lap to have something to do with my hands. Because God help me, I like watching him try so hard not to show he cares.
“Ah, Lucky,” Ethan’s mum chimes, eyes twinkling like she’s just remembered a delightful secret. “You’ve arrived just in time at Cedar Lake. We thought we’d surprise Ethan next weekend—his birthday’s coming up, you know. Every year, same drill: Charlotte drives up from Manhattan, we fly in, and he gets the royal fussy treatment. Didn’t want you to feel left out of the family tradition.”
I blink. Birthday? Suddenly, the noise, the precision of their orchestration the gleam in Charlotte’s eye, makes sense. I’m the unexpected variable thrown into his annual ritual. I bite back a grin, because I’m part of this now, whether I like it or not.
Charlotte leans forward, silk scarf swishing. “Don’t look so horrified, Lucky. It’s rather fun watching my brother squirm.”
“Fun for you, terrifying for him,” I murmur, and she cackles.
“Oh, positively! Honestly, he deserves it.”
Dinner continues, a glorious mess. Ethan’s mom is fussing over the wine bottle, and his dad is inspecting forks and knives as if they’re evidence at a crime scene. Charlotte's skewering me with sharp curiosity and mockery, Lily's bouncing like a pinball, jabbering about every riff she wants to learn. Somehow, I’m keeping up. I fit better than I expected, trading barbs and jokes with them like I’ve been part of this craziness forever.
“So, Lucky,” Charlotte leans in, voice silky, “what exactly do you do, apart from charming Ethan senseless?”
I raise an eyebrow, smirking. “I make small towns mildly chaotic. Occasionally, I play guitar. And I like to cook… badly.”
Lily claps and winks at me. “That’s what I said! She’s brilliant!”
Kid’s brilliant at keeping secrets. Even as big as mine.
Then, my hand brushes Ethan’s under the table. Just a touch. My stomach flips. His eyes flick to mine, sharp and aware, holding me there. Subtle, electric. I let a small smirk curl on my lips, teasing. He jerks just slightly, jaw ticking, annoyed at Charlotte’s probing but closer now, shoulders guarding me like a shield. Protective and impossibly British about it. My pulse ticks up. He doesn’t even know what he’s protecting, only that I want to keep my past to myself.
Charlotte notices none of it—or pretends not to. “Ethan, you’re practically glowing. Or is that just panic? My, my, someone can answer back.”
The evening spirals into further chaos. Ethan’s mom is now fretting over containers of takeaway stacked like a monument to domestic madness.
Eventually, Ethan leans over, voice low. “Lily’s guitar lessons. Covered. Don’t make me hear otherwise.”
I tilt my head at him, eyes sparkling, and whisper just enough for him to catch it. “I’ve already invaded your quiet little life. Consider the lessons' compensation.”
He freezes for a heartbeat, just long enough that my smirk grows, then nods. Eyes flick down at mine again, lingering, charged. It’s subtle, under the table, but it’s enough.
Charlotte, oblivious or maybe deliberately cruel, leans back, watching us like she’s reading tea leaves. “Well,” she says, “if she survives dinner with my brother without running, she deserves a medal—or a very large cocktail.”
