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“I—” Baryn starts, but Gerry lifts a hand.

“Let’s not,” he says, gentle but firm. “You’ll only dig yourself deeper, and I’d rather not have to call for a shovel to fill the hole back in before dinner.”

Theo’s lips press together, amusement flickering before he reins it in. I have a feeling that if I meet his eyes, I’ll lose it completely, so I glue my attention to the front like my life depends on it.

Gerry turns to me and dips his head slightly, all old-school manners and steady warmth. “Dr. Jennings, I presume. My apologies. Mayfair hospitality is usually better than this.” His words carry no pretense, just sincerity. “Gerald Whitaker, though everyone here insists on ‘Gerry.’”

“Pleasure,” I shake his offered hand. His grip is firm but not overcompensating. “I’ve heard so many lovely things about you.”

Then he turns to Theo. “And you must be Professor Grayson. My dear Evelyn has always spoken highly of you.”

Theo blinks, caught between surprise and gratitude. “She has?”

Gerry nods, a knowing glint in his eye. “And she’s got a good eye for character,” he says, punctuating it with a wink.

Baryn’s already taken his seat, pretending to study the swirl of his wine like it holds the secrets of the universe. The back of his neck is flushed red.

Gerry sighs and looks at him again. “I’ll assume you’ll offer a proper apology after dinner, Bear.”

“Yes, sir,” Baryn mouths, the words barely there at all.

“Good man,” Gerry says lightly, then gestures toward the table. “Now, if we can avoid further theatrics, dinner’s surely almost ready, and I’d prefer to enjoy it without needing to mediate another domestic skirmish.”

One of the staff flits nervously around the table, adjusting forks that don’t need adjusting and smoothing invisible wrinkles from the linen runner.

“Tillie, dear, thank you,” Evelyn says warmly, with a little wave of her fingers. “That’ll be all for now.” Tillie gives a small, grateful nod and retreats through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen.

“Lila, sweetheart, you look beautiful,” Evelyn says, probably louder than necessary, and pats the table in front of her, signaling for me to take the seat across from where she’s sitting.

Which would be good and fine and great, if Baryn wasn’t sitting next to her, because this places Theo across from him.

Theo releases my arm with an easy grace, stepping ahead of me to pull my chair out. It’s a small gesture, but the way he does it—measured, determined—feels different. More like a claim than simple courtesy.

Then, as if he’s been doing this forever, he guides me down with a light touch at the small of my back, his fingers pressing just enough to send a ripple of warmth through me.

I barely have a second to process that before he leans down, close enough that his breath stirs a loose strand of my hair. And then, with the ease of someone who’s done it before, he presses a kiss to my temple.

Soft. Warm.

My heart hammers violently against my ribs.

“You really do look beautiful,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.

Oh.

So he’s committing to this.

It takes everything in me not to whip my head toward him, to demand what the hell just happened and who, exactly, has taken over his body. Because this isn’t just passive participation anymore.

My brain short-circuits, rewires itself, and then scrambles again as I force myself to remember—this isn’t real. It’s just an act.

At least now, he’s actually pretending we’re together.

Gerry takes the empty chair on Evelyn’s other side. She places a hand on his arm, an acknowledgment of his presence. There’s an ease between them that speaks to years of shared loss—Henry, and the life that used to fill this house. He leans in to whisper something that earns a small giggle from her. It’s a rhythm they’ve clearly fallen into over time. Two old friends bound by grief, a partnership built on knowing what it means to survive someone you love.

I know that feeling. I just don’t have anyone else to share it with.

Emily comes in a few moments later and takes the seat next to me. She kisses my cheek and I give her a squeeze. She is subdued, but seemingly grateful to have me here. More herself than she was yesterday.