"Nathan," I said. I'd never met him, but I knew who he was. The eldest son. The heir. The one who'd been "away on business" while I had dinner with his father and brother.
"So you know my name." He pushed off from the railing and walked toward me, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. "I'm flattered. My father doesn't usually mention me to his... guests."
"I'm not a guest."
"No?" He stopped a few feet away, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something dark and woody, with a hint of citrus underneath. "Then what are you?"
"I work for your father. Medical. That's all."
"That's all." He tilted his head, and his eyes traveled over me—not the way Gabriel's had, shy and hopeful, but the way a buyer assesses merchandise. He looked at my face, my throat, the place where the blue dress curved over my chest. He looked at my legs, my ankles, the borrowed heels that pinched my toes. "You don't look like medical staff."
"What do medical staff look like?"
"Older. Uglier. Less likely to make my brother forget his manners."
I felt my face heat. So he knew about the garden. Of course he knew. This family probably had eyes everywhere, ears in every wall. Nothing happened in the Mire mansion that Nathan didn't know about.
"The garden was private," I said.
"Nothing's private here." He stepped closer—just a step, just enough to close the space between us. I could feel the warmth of him, the solid weight of his presence. "My father doesn't bring women here. My brother doesn't kiss strangers. And yet here you are, in a dress that's too small and shoes that don't fit, looking like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"I'd rather be at work."
"At the diner? Pouring coffee for truckers and drunks?" He laughed—a low, rough sound that made something in my chest tighten. "You're lying. You'd rather be here. You just don't want to admit it."
"I don't have to admit anything to you."
"No," he agreed. "You don't." He reached out and touched a strand of my hair—just a brush of his fingers against my cheek, light as a whisper. I flinched before I could stop myself."Interesting. You're not afraid of my father. You're not afraid of my brother. But you're afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Your body says otherwise." He dropped his hand and stepped back, and the air rushed back into the space between us. "Dinner's in an hour. Try to look like you belong here. It's embarrassing for everyone when you don't."
He walked away. I stood in the foyer with my heart pounding and my hands trembling, and I hated him for making me feel small. I hated him for being right.
I didn't belong here.
But I was starting to think that was the point.
Dinner was served in the same room as the night before—the long table, the candles, the shadows that moved like dancers on the walls. But the seating was different tonight. Aleksander sat at the head, as always, with Nathan on his right and Gabriel on his left. I was across from Gabriel, which put me directly in Nathan's line of sight.
He watched me through every course.
Not the way Aleksander watched—steady, patient, like he was reading a book he didn't want to put down. Not the way Gabriel watched—shy, hopeful, like he was trying to memorize my face. Nathan watched me the way you watch a fire. Waiting for it to burn out of control. Waiting for it to consume something.
"How was the diner tonight?" Aleksander asked, cutting into his lamb with surgical precision.
"I didn't work tonight," I said. "I traded shifts with someone. She needed the hours."
"How generous."
"I'm not generous. I just remember what it was like to need money."
Nathan snorted. "We all need money. The difference is what we're willing to do for it."
"Nathan," Aleksander said. It wasn't a warning—not quite. Just a word, neutral and calm. But Nathan's jaw tightened, and he looked away from me for the first time since we'd sat down.
Gabriel cleared his throat. "Monika, I was reading about something today. A new technique for treating fractures in large animals. Have you ever—"
