What the actual fuck?
Stunned doesn’t even cover it. I’m floored.
Gabriel goes rigid, shoulders locking like he’s been snapped upright by a spring. The tension rolls off him in waves. Elijah notices too—his fork hovering midair, a bite suspended. For a split second, it feels like we’re all caught in the same held breath.
“I wasn’t aware you knew Noah?” I manage, nudging my coffee aside like it somehow complicates things.
She blinks at me. “What kind of question is that, Dad? Of course I know him. We met in Spain.”
Elijah’s fork slips from his hand; the clatter ricochets off the plate.
My jaw goes slack.
Noah’s eyes flick to mine, nervous, apologetic, something.
Gabriel squirms, the chair creaking under him.
A thin, uneasy silence settles over the table, the kind that makes you suddenly aware of every tiny sound you’re making just by existing.
“Excuse me,” Noah mutters, coughing as he pushes away from the table. He doesn’t wait for a response—just slips out, heading for the bathroom like it’s a lifeboat.
“Stephania,” Elijah says through his teeth, still staring straight at Gabriel. “Take Emilee to your room.”
The full-name treatment lands hard. Elijah only uses it when he’s two seconds from combusting. Ana knows it too—everyone does—but of course it glides right off her like everything else.
“Oh boy… here comes the gay drama.” She’s mocking, rolling those dazzling green eyes. “We should really consider putting you three on reality TV.A Day in the World of Gay.”
She throws us a grin, bright and only slightly obnoxious, and hooks Emilee’s hand in hers, escorting her down the hall like she’s evacuating the premises before the real show starts.
The tension she leaves behind doesn’t follow her. It sits with us, settling like an unwelcome guest.
That’s when I seize the opportunity to follow—using the girls’ exit as cover to go in search of Noah.
The bathroom door is closed, but surprisingly not locked. Lucky me. Or unlucky, depending on where this goes. I skip knocking and ease it open.
Noah’s braced against the counter, delicate fingers threading through his hair. Even rattled, he’s captivating, like he stepped out of a painting. Something soft-edged and breakable.
I shut the door behind me and click the lock. The sound is louder than it should be.
I cross the small space, plant both hands on the counter, boxing him in. My pulse spikes; something twists low in my stomach.
“Look at me,” I say, trying to force calm into my voice that I don’t feel.
He lifts his head, but his eyes stay fixed somewhere near my collarbone, anywhere but my face.
“I said,lookat me.” I’m so mad, I barely have the breath to carry my words, sharp against the tension humming between us.
“I c-can’t.”
His voice catches on the first consonant, and for a second, the whole room feels too small for both of us.
“You can and you will.” I lean in, lips hovering dangerously close to his. His breath stutters and lips tremble as I watch a tremor travel through him as his eyes pave their way up to mine.
“What’s going on, Noah? Are you fucking him?”
He goes still—statue still. No blink, no swallow, nothing.
“Noah!” My fist slams against the counter before I can stop myself. The crack ricochets off the quartz, sharp enough to make him flinch. A single tear slips down his cheek, carving a quiet line. And finally—he blinks.
