I knew I probably should’ve said something.
Anything really.
A joke. A change of subject. A polite interruption. I had spent my entire life perfecting the art of redirecting my mother before she went too far. It was practically a survival instinct at this point.
But I couldn’t find it in me to do it.
Not when Vani was defending me.
Not when every single thing she said was true.
Except for gold diggers needing to be educated, I've met some questionable women who knew how to swindle a man but were incredibly dumb.
The backyard felt smaller than it had when we first sat down. The sun above us cast a soft glow over the polished table, over the untouched plates, over my mother’s perfectly composed expression that wasn’t nearly as composed as she wanted it to be.
My father cleared his throat.
He carefully adjusted his napkin, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth despite the storm that had just torn through the backyard. “Perhaps,” he said mildly, “we should all have lunch together another time.”
Translation: this was a disaster.
My mother’s lips thinned into a perfect, brittle line. She didn’t look at anyone in particular, which meant she was furious.Knowing when to take a hint, I stood. The scrape of my chair sounded louder than it should have in the suffocating silence. I extended my hand toward Vani.
She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing her fingers in mine.
The moment her hand slipped into mine, something inside my chest tightened. I didn't feel angry or embarrassed. What I felt was something dangerously close to pride.
She had stood up for me and didn't back down once.
No one had ever done that for me before.
I shot a glance at my mother. There was no softness in her expression. No regret. No flicker of apology. For a split second, I hoped she would say something. Anything that suggested she felt even the slightest bit sorry for how the conversation had gone.
She didn’t. Her silence stung more than I expected.
Of course, she didn’t.
Vani gently pulled her hand from mine and turned toward my father and Emily. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding like she really meant it. “I didn’t mean to ruin lunch.”
Emily barked out a laugh before either of our parents could respond. “Ruin it? Please. That was the most entertaining family lunch we’ve had in years.”
“Emily,” my father warned.
“What?” my sister shrugged innocently. “It’s great material for my new book. Dysfunctional billionaire family meets unexpectedly fierce wife? It practically writes itself.”
Vani flushed.
Emily grinned at us, then hurried off before either of our parents could reprimand her further. She blew Vani a quick wink as she disappeared inside the house.
My father gave me a look, then glanced at Vani one last time. “We’ll speak later,” he said quietly.
I nodded.
Without another glance at my mother or Victoria, Vani and I followed Emily’s example and made our exit. The walk to the car felt longer than usual. The air outside was cooler, fresher. I opened the passenger door for her without thinking. She slid inside, smoothing her dress over her knees, her shoulders tense.
I closed the door, circled the car, and got in on the driver’s side.
The moment the doors shut, sealing us in our own private space, she exhaled.
