Our hands collide under the table.
The contact is electric. A shock wave jolts up my arm, seizing my breath. For a second, time stops. His skin is warm, rough, and real. His fingers brush mine, and instead of pulling back, he lingers. His pinky hooks around mine—a secret, desperate tether in the dark.
He squeezes my finger, once, hard.
Then he jerks back as if burned.
“Sorry,” I stammer, sitting up too fast, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
He doesn’t look at me. He stares at the wall with a terrifying, absolute stillness, a vein throbbing violently at his temple. Helooks like a man who is one second away from overturning the table.
Chapter Six
Dove
Emily doesn’t let the silence linger. She recovers from Cordia’s toast with a terrifying sort of grace, pivoting the conversation to a charity auction she’s organizing, effectively icing Cordia out. Shane stays quiet, his gaze fixed on his wine glass, his hand resting on the table in a fist that hasn’t relaxed since we sat down.
I try to eat. I push a spear of asparagus around my plate, but my appetite has vanished.
Beside me, Cordia checks her watch. She tosses her napkin onto the table.
“The lamb,” she announces, pushing back her chair. “Should be almost done. I’ll go check it.”
She stands, and I feel a spike of panic. I know I have the rest of the Archer’s here, but I want my best friend right now. The newfound confidence I just summoned wavers at the thought of being the sole target of the woman sitting on the other side of Shane.
I stand before I can think it through.
“I’ll help,” I say. The words come out too quickly, making me breathless.
Emily arches her brow. “I’m sure Cordia can handle an oven, Dove. You’re a guest. Sit down.”
It’s an order, not a suggestion, but she’s also not my mother, nor is she Melanie, so I ignore her. Shane agrees with my dismissal of Emily’s command. He sends me a sharp, tight jerk of his chin.Go.
“She makes a better sous-chef than you do, Em,” Cordia throws over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. “Come on, Dove. Save me from myself.”
I don’t wait for a rebuttal. I turn and follow Cordia, walking out of the dining room with as much dignity as I can muster. I feel Shane’s gaze on my back, a physical weight, burning through the fabric of my dress until I cross the threshold and the heavy oak door swings shut behind me.
The silence of the hallway is instant relief. I exhale, my shoulders dropping three inches.
“Thank God,” Cordia mutters, abandoning her hostess persona the second we are out of earshot. “If I had to listen to one more word about her philanthropy, I was going to stab myself with a butter knife.”
I let out a shaky laugh, falling into step beside her. “She’s... spirited.”
“She’s a nightmare,” Cordia corrects.
Stepping into the kitchen, I’m enveloped by the mouthwatering scent of roasting lamb.
The kitchen is a different world.
“What can I do?” I ask, in regards to helping with last-minute dinner prep.
“Toss the salad,” she orders, gesturing to a massive bowl of greens. “And try not to look so traumatized. We’re almost done.”
I wash my hands and get to work. The repetitive motion of tossing arugula and spinach is grounding.
Cordia nudges my hip with hers. “I saw him, you know.”
I pause. “Saw who?”
