“You did,” Shane cuts her off. He looks down at me then, and the steel melts into something molten. “Don’t hide them, Dove. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
He gives my hand one last, firm squeeze before slowly letting go.
My heart is hammering against my ribs so hard I think it might bruise. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can feel is the warmth of his skin against mine and the absolute, terrifying realization that Shane Archer just declared war because of me.
Again. This time on his own girlfriend.
Emily looks furious, but Shane doesn’t care. He turns his back on her, grabbing a plate and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me, creating a wall of broad shoulders and expensive wool between me and the rest of the world.
“Berries look good,” he murmurs to me, casual as anything, as if he didn’t just burn the room down.
I stare up at him, breathless and reeling. “Shane...”
“Eat, Dove,” he whispers, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. “Before I say something that gets us both kicked out of here.”
Chapter Three
Dove
By the time Shane’s two sisters return from the kitchen with Theo in tow, who clearly has whipped cream in the corner of his lip, they are shocked to hear what they missed.
“Tell me again,” Cordia demands, leaning in over the back of the sofa like a conspirator. “Shane saidwhatto his girlfriend?”
“Implied that she’s only good for spending money,” I say in a low whisper, glancing toward the foyer to ensure the coast is clear.
“Ouch.” Theo hollers from across the room, though he’s grinning. “That’s a critical hit.”
The shout booms from the other side of the room, making me jump. I snap my head toward the noise, terrified Theo heard me.
But he isn't looking at us. He’s standing next to Shane in their own private conversation. Judging by Theo’s animated expressions, he’s talking about some video game, or movie, or I don’t know, a play he saw last week. Shane is listening intently,actually smiling, looking like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders just by talking to his brother.
I watch them, my chest aching with a familiar fondness. It’s rare to see Shane’s guard down like that. Usually, he’s so wrapped up in being the stoic protector, the CEO, the "Archer Heir," that he forgets to just be a person. But I know that smile. I’ve seen it when he helps Cordia fix her flat tires, or when he spent three hours helping me assemble bookshelves for my classroom without complaining once. It’s the real Shane. The one Emily never seems to notice.
Meanwhile, Emily looks bored beside them. Every now and then she shoots Shane a puppy dog expression that says: “Notice me. Give me pets after scolding me for eating trash.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” Cordia says, drawing my attention away from the other woman. She snatches a deviled egg from a tray and pops the whole thing in her mouth, then swiftly swallows. “If the shoe fits, buy it in every color. God knows she does.”
“Not wrong, but a bit rude,” Marabella starts, smoothing the skirt of her dress with a critical eye. “Whether he means it or not, Mamma raised us better than to disrespect our partners in public. It’s messy.”
“Since when do you care about propriety?” Cordia asks. “You’re the one who told your ex-boyfriend he had the emotional depth of a teaspoon at Christmas dinner.”
“I don’t care about propriety,” Marabella admits with a dry smirk. “But I do care about standards. And watching Shane date a woman who treats charity like a tax shelter is lowering ours. It’s embarrassing for the brand.”
She looks at me, her expression softening from cynical to sympathetic. “He’s miserable, Dove. You can see it, can’t you? He looks like he’s wearing an itchy sweater he can’t take off.”
“I see him trying to make it work,” I say diplomatically, though the lie tastes sour. “He’s loyal. To a fault.”
“Loyal?” Cordia snorts. “He’s stubborn. He made a bad investment and he’s too proud to sell. But Shane doesn’t love Emily, Mara, now does he? He loves–”
“Alright, stop,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. Hearing Cordia claim that Shane loves me, when he clearly does not, will only break my heart further.
Wanting to prove my point, I continue, “He thinks of me as a sister. If she had made the same comment to either of you, he would have intervened in the same way. He’s just... wired to protect the people he grew up with.”
“Not the same,” Cordia insists, leaning in closer so only we can hear, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “He doesn't look at me or Marabella like he’s trying to figure out how we taste.”
“Cordia!” I hiss, face heating.
“She’s right,” Marabella adds calmly, swirling her wine. “I’ve seen the way he tracks you across a room, Dove. It’s not brotherly. It’s predatory. In a repressed, Victorian romance novel sort of way. He looks like he wants to lock you in a tower so no one else can talk to you.”
