Not exactly a happy one but a strong one. Dark eyes turning darker when he called melittle mouse. The almost touch of his massive hands that felt like a cage of a different kind.
And suddenly, my skin prickles with heat that has nothing to do with the island sun, and I slowly realize that the heavy stone sitting on my chest is not from sadness anymore.
I change for dinner, opting for a red dress that makes my body feel like a weapon—if I’m facing the lions, I’ll do it armed with my best gun: the color red, when it’s not on my cheeks of course. I feel good in it. Maybe even a little powerful.
In the restaurant,the dining hall is lit with dull, warm lights. With not many people yet seated, it feels like a very personal affair.
Our table is set for six: my parents, me, Ezra (absent), Maeve (missing), and the caveman since he’s part of my future family too. He’s lounging at the bar when I approach, a glass with amber liquid in hand, his eyes locking on mine. A predator spotting the little mouse the moment I step into the room.
His lips curl at one corner as he watches me enter, and I’m suddenly aware of the way my dress clings to my curves and moves with the sway of my hips. He lifts his glass in silent acknowledgment of my arrival, and something about the gesture makes my cheeks warm.
“Beatrice.” My father’s voice cuts through the haze I entered the moment King’s eyes landed on me.
I take my seat at the table, sandwiched between my parents who are probably ready to poke me with their forks in case of any mishap. The appetizers are already served, without them asking what I wanted of course. That would have been too humane.
“Still no word from Maeve?” Father questions the table as if the silverware will answer. He has this habit of talking with the air, knowing people will serve his desires either way.
Mother’s fingers tighten around her wine stem. “Flights are delayed. Bad weather.”
“And where’s your brother?” Father asks as Noah approaches our table.
Noah slides into the chair opposite me. Under the table, our knees accidentally touch before he subtly readjusts and I quicklyshift away, but the brief contact burns my flesh right through the fabric of my dress.
“Ezra had some calls to make,” Noah replies with a casual voice. “Last-minute details.”
Father’s knife scrapes against fine China as he separates his tuna tartar with surgical precision as if it wasn’t already mushed. “This wedding can’t afford delays if you want to keep the company in your name.” His eyes flick to me. “Beatrice. That little display in the lobby?—”
“It was nothing,” Noah interrupts, swirling his whiskey. “Just a bag.”
The crystal chandelier right atop us seems to dim as my parents exchange glances. Father’s knife resumes its work, slower now. “King, family matters stay within the family.”
Noah’s jaw shifts beneath stubble he didn’t bother shaving—something that refined men in our society would never allow themselves to have. When his eyes find mine across the table, something passes between us—a tiny spark of unwelcome understanding.
The waiter materializes with tiny plates of something artfully arranged before I touch anything on my current plate.
I check my phone under the table, hoping to hear from Maeve. As excited as I am to see her, I’d be happy if this scrutiny were directed toward her for a change. Let’s say for leaving home five years ago and dropping her then-destined-fiancé on my lap. I know I’d love to say some things about that. But my phone is silent.
Mother dabs her lips with her napkin. “You know, Beatrice has always been…” she sighs as if the weight of me has exhausted her for decades, “difficult. She had an unfortunate incident when she was seventeen that showed us just how difficult she was. She made quite a scandal for us to clean up.”
My spine stiffens, and I study the tablecloth’s pattern, counting the threads—it’s as if she can read my mind. Her ability to bring up the incident with Maeve’s former betrothed at the exact moment I’m thinking of it is uncanny. There’s no use saying anything back because in their minds, the incident will always be my fault.
“She seems perfectly fine to me,” Noah says quietly, glancing my way.
The silence that follows feels like the moment before lightning strikes. Father’s knuckles turn nearly purple around his fork, and I’m almost sure he’s gonna make a few holes in Noah’s chest with it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, boy.”
Noah shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring Father’s open insult, his knee brushing mine under the table again. I shift my leg away, but the warmth from his passing touch lingers. Not scorching this time but almost comforting.
A server slides a plate of barely seared tuna before me, the portion small enough to fit on my pinky.
I check my phone again. Nothing from Maeve.
Mother dabs her lips with her napkin. “If your sister doesn’t arrive by tomorrow, we’ll simply proceed without her.”
“And without the groom too?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Mother’s pearls click as her hand freezes midair. The silence stretches until she busies herself with her wine glass.
I feel eyes on me and glance up. Noah watches me from across the table with something unreadable in his expression. When our gazes lock, he doesn’t look away. I return to pushing food around my plate, counting the minutes until I can escape.
