My heart stutters. I look up to see his eyes—steel gray and burning—not fixed on Emily, but checking me. Checking to see if I’m bleeding.
“But really,” Emily says, her voice rising, desperate to reclaim the attention. She reaches out, running her manicured fingernails down Shane’s forearm. It’s a possessive, clawing gesture.
Shane flinches. He pulls his arm away, placing it on the table closer to mine.
“Not everyone gets to choose a career as... adorable as teaching,” Emily continues, her smile turning brittle. “Some of us have to work.”
“It’s not adorable,” Shane snaps. He doesn’t look at her. He looks at his father, then at me. “It’s vital.”
“It’s construction paper and glitter, Shane,” Emily laughs, throwing her head back. “Let’s be honest.”
I freeze. The insult hangs in the air, gross and heavy. I want to disappear. I want to run.
“Actually,” Henry Archer says, his voice low and commanding. He sets his knife down with a definitive click. The table falls silent. “I’d venture to say none of us would be sitting here without a teacher who guided us.”
He raises his glass to me. A silent salute.
“Here, here,” Theo murmurs, raising his water glass.
Something inside me shifts.
I look at Emily, preening in her expensive dress, thinking she’s won because she’s the loudest. I look at Shane, who is vibrating with a suppressed rage, his focus entirely on protecting me.
And I realize I am done cowering. Whether I belong or not, the Archers love me. And right now, that is enough.
“We’re making a butterfly garden,” I say clearly, cutting through the tension. “My class. For spring.”
Emily smirks, picking at her salad. “How sweet.”
“It is,” I say, meeting her eyes. I don’t blink. “It’s about growth and change. It’s about things that start small and humble and become beautiful.”
I feel Shane’s gaze on the side of my face. It’s heavy. Tangible. I glance at him. His eyes soften, the hard lines of his face relaxing into something that looks painfully like pride.
“To teachers,” Cordia announces, raising her glass high. “The unsung heroes.”
“Here, here,” the table murmurs.
Everyone drinks. Everyone except Emily.
“Dove.”
The whisper comes from Cordia leaning in, her expression fierce.
“They’re not serious, you know,” she murmurs, passing me the breadbasket with a little more force than necessary. “I’ve never seen two people less compatible. It’s painful.”
But Emily must have heard her, because she interjects, her voice sharp as broken glass. “And how many successful relationships have you maintained, Cordia?”
The table goes quiet. The tension is sudden and sharp, a wire pulled to the breaking point. Even Melanie freezes, her wine glass halfway to her mouth.
But Cordia doesn’t flinch. She rips a piece of bread in half. “Enough to recognize when someone is settling.”
At the head of the table, Henry Archer hides a smile behind his wine glass.
Emily’s grip on Shane’s arm tightens again. I see her nails dig in, probably leaving white crescents on his skin through his suit jacket. It’s not affection; it’s control. It’s a leash.
Surprised at Cordia’s bluntness, my napkin slips from my numb fingers, fluttering to the floor.
I reach for it. Shane reaches for it.
