She demanded that I show up with my wife, yet she had the audacity to have Victoria here. I knew my mom wanted me to marry Victoria even though I’ve made it clear that would never happen, so inviting her felt even more like a slap to the face.
A part of me wanted to take Vani and leave. The impulse was sharp and instinctive, like reaching for a weapon when threatened. I could already picture it: my hand on the small of her back, murmuring something about a headache or a sudden meeting, ushering her away before this situation could get any worse.
But another part of me refused.
Because leaving would mean retreating. And retreating would mean giving them the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten under my skin. Of knowing they’d won.
I clenched my jaw, irritation simmering beneath the surface, and it was then that I became aware of something else entirely.Something a lot more dangerous than whatever my mom and Victoria were planning.
I’d called her Vani.
The realization hit me like a low hum beneath my ribs. The name had slipped into my mind so naturally that it startled me. I’d never shortened her name before. Never felt the urge to. But there it was, warm and familiar in a way that made something in my chest tighten unexpectedly.
I ignored the fuzzy feeling that followed. Buried it where I buried most of my romantic emotions.
Without another word, I reached for her arm.
Evania startled slightly at the contact. Her attention snapped back to me, but she didn’t pull away. My fingers wrapped around her forearm with deliberate ease. I began leading her outside.
“Lunch is in the backyard,” I said quietly.
I turned and led her toward the back doors, ignoring Victoria, who looked shocked that I ignored her. The backyard stretched beyond the glass, sunlit and pristine, with white tablecloths fluttering gently in the breeze, the scent of grilled food drifting through the open doors.
I didn’t miss the huff of indignation behind us.
Victoria followed.
Of course she did.
The sound alone grated on my nerves. I resisted the urge to turn around and tell her exactly where she could shove that attitude. Instead, I focused on Vani, on the way she matched my stride effortlessly, her posture relaxed but alert.
As soon as we stepped onto the grass, she raised a brow in my direction. She didn't say anything; she didn't have to. That one look told me she wanted an explanation, and she deserved one.
I exhaled through my nose and slowed, guiding her toward a table at the far end of the yard, one that offered just enough distance from the others without appearing deliberate. The sunfiltered through the trees overhead, dappling her face in light and shadow. Not for the first time, I hated the fact that I’d dragged her into this.
“That’s Victoria,” I said, keeping my voice low. “My ex.”
I waited for the reaction.
Prepared myself for annoyance, for irritation, maybe even discomfort. Any of it would have been justified. She had every right to feel blindsided. I felt the same. Instead, she laughed. She laughed as though she’d just been told something highly amusing.
The tension in my shoulders eased, and a surprised, reluctant grin tugged at my lips when her laughter met me. Relief mixed with disbelief—I hadn’t expected her to find it funny.
“You’re serious?” she asked, still smiling.
“Unfortunately.”
She shook her head, still smiling. “Your mother invited your ex to a family lunch where she insisted you bring your wife?”
“That would be correct.”
She shook her head, lips pressing together as she struggled not to laugh. “Wow. And I thought she just wanted to meet me.”
"That's what I thought too," I muttered. I didn’t like any of this.
Her gaze flicked past me, toward where Victoria was approaching, her heels sinking slightly into the grass, her expression already sharpened into something unpleasant.
“Well,” Vania said lightly, “this just got interesting.”
