“You’re welcome.” The way he says it, low and rough, makes it sound likeyou’re mine.
Henry rubs his hands together, oblivious or perhaps just ignoring the tension. “I’ve been waiting for this wine for weeks. It is a 1985 Sassicaia.”
“Waiting is too subtle of a term, darling,” Melanie says with a chuckle. “I caught him trying to sniff the wine through the cork at least a dozen times.”
Theo playfully hits his hands on the table, rattling the plates. “He gets to sniff the wine but I can’t taste the pie? This is a dictatorship.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not nearly the same.”
“Is too!”
Noting a bit of whipped cream on his chin from a pre-dinner snack, I point it out. “Missed a spot, Theo.”
He dabs it with a napkin, grinning at me. The meal is served, and the heavy, rich scent of roast lamb fills the air. Shane immediately reaches for the platter of roasted potatoes. He serves me a generous portion, acting like my provider before he even thinks about serving himself or his girlfriend.
Once my glass is filled with wine, I swirl it around, mimicking Henry. I suppose it is nice; it brings the scent of earth and berries floating in the air.
I’m enjoying the exchange, feeling the warmth of the family I love, when Emily takes a sip of her wine and stares at me. The silence she creates is loud.
“Oh. Dove,” she says, her voice pitching up in a way that sounds helpful but feels like a knife. “How exciting to get some real wine today. With your salary, I bet all you can afford are the kinds from the gas station.”
The table freezes. Theo stops chewing. Melanie’s smile falters.
Not this again.
In the past, I would have looked down. I would have let the shame burn my cheeks. But today, I beat Shane Archer at his own game. Now, I am feeling brave.
I take a slow sip of the wine, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass. “Actually, Emily, I prefer coffee. It fuels the patience required to deal with... difficult behaviors.”
Theo chokes on his water, turning it into a cough. Marabella’s fork clatters against her plate as she hides a smirk.
“Gas station wine has a certain rustic charm,” Marabella says dryly, coming to my aid. “Don’t be a snob, Em.”
“I’m not being a snob,” Emily says, widening her eyes in mock innocence, though her grip on her glass tightens. “I’m being realistic. Budgets are budgets. It’s not Dove’s fault she chose a path with a ceiling.”
I feel Shane stiffen beside me. His hand, resting on the tablecloth, curls into a fist. The knuckles turn white.
Honestly not knowing, and wanting to shift the focus off my bank account before Shane snaps, I ask, “What do you do again?”
Her cheeks practically puff in pride. She sits up straighter, preening. “Philanthropy. I personally raise millions for children each year.”
“Oh, that sounds noble,” I say, genuinely trying to find common ground. “What does that entail?”
“Every year, we hold a fundraiser for Chilton Academy.”
I blink. Chilton is the most expensive private school in the state. The tuition alone costs more than my annual rent.
“That’s great,” I say, forcing a smile. “I bet lots of scholarship children benefit from it.”
Emily laughs, a tinny, hollow sound that grates on my nerves. “Scholarships? Absolutely not. We focus on infrastructure. Last year, we added ten lanes to the pool and a state-of-the-art conservatory. It’s a great tax write-off for the donors.” She looks around the table, expecting applause. “I don’t mean to brag, but Chilton raises geniuses. Our next generation of revolutionaries and millionaires. Guess that makes me one of the most impactful women in today’s age.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Then, Shane moves.
He turns his entire body toward me, putting his shoulder to Emily, effectively cutting her out of his line of sight.
“Teaching children is one of the most impactful professions there is, Emily,” he says. His voice is calm, but it has a jagged edge to it, like a blade wrapped in silk.
