My heart pounds against my ribs, and I take another gulp of wine, hoping the alcohol will calm my nerves. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes me feel more exposed, like my sister can see right through me to the truth I’m desperately trying to hide.
“I don’t have a guilty look,” I protest, but even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds.
“Oh, you absolutely do.” Martin settles into the chair across from me, clearly delighted by this turn of events. “It’s written all over your face. Someone’s been a very naughty girl.”
“Martin,” Ezra warns, but there’s amusement in his voice that makes my stomach twist with anxiety. My last ally has left me.
“Oh! Speaking of Martin,” Martin suddenly says, talking about himself in the third person. “Martin got everyone thebest gift ever!” He disappears somewhere, only to reappear a moment later with four little packages wrapped in red paper. “I got us matching socks!”
With so much glee, it’s contagious, he passes a bag to everyone, keeping one by his side, and I sag a bit in relief, grateful to have the attention off me.
“This one is for the Grump when I see him.” He looks around at us with a confused look on his face. “Go on, open it.”
Simultaneously, we unwrap our presents and find yellow socks with dancing turkeys. I love them instantly.
“Ta-da! We all match now!” He grabs one of his legs and pulls the pants up, revealing the matching monstrosity. “Like a real family.”
My eyes dart toward Martin who looks radiant but shy, and I suddenly realize that to Martin, we are family. Matching socks are his idea of showing it. I pull my socks off and replace them with the dancing turkeys. Maeve and Ezra do the same.
“Thank you,” comes Martin’s small voice, which makes me choke on the sudden lump in my throat. But before we all bawl our eyes out, he changes the topic before I can even process what’s happening. “There’s one person missing though. Do you happen to know where he went by any chance, Bea? Since he was leaving your place this morning.”
“I don’t.” I need to change the subject before this interrogation goes any further. “So, Ezra, what’s the legal stuff you have to deal with with the city?” I turn toward him, trying to save myself. “Anything to do with Maeve burning your building down last year?”
“Nice try,” Maeve says, not letting Ezra answer my obvious deflection. “But we’re not done talking about your mysterious black-eyed visitors or the scandalous moments of your life.”
“There’s nothing mysterious about it because there were no visitors,” I snap, my patience finally fraying. “Can we pleasejust have a normal family dinner without psychoanalyzing every aspect of my personal life?”
The kitchen falls silent except for the gentle bubbling of Ezra’s risotto. I immediately regret my outburst. The silence stretches uncomfortably, and I can feel three pairs of eyes studying me like I’m a specimen under a microscope.
“Sorry,” I mumble, staring down at my wine glass. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s okay,” Maeve says gently, but I can hear the concern in her voice. “We’re just worried about you. You seem off.”
Off. That’s one way to put it. What I am is completely unraveling because I can’t stop thinking about the way Noah’s hands felt on my skin, the way he whispered my name in the dark like it was something sacred.
“I’m fine,” I lie, taking another sip of wine. The alcohol is making me feel loose-limbed and reckless, which is dangerous when I’m already walking a tightrope of secrets.
“You know what I think?” Martin says, swirling his wine dramatically. “I think our dear Beatrice has gotten herself into a deliciously complicated situation with someone completely inappropriate.”
I open my mouth to deny it again, but Ezra’s phone buzzes against the marble counter, cutting through the tension. He glances at it and frowns.
“Speak of the devil,” he mutters, picking up the device. “Noah.”
My stomach drops, and I suddenly regret every sip of wine I’ve had. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve made up a better excuse, feigned a broken leg—anything to avoid this moment. I watch Ezra’s face as he answers the call, trying to read his expression for any hint of what Noah might be saying.
“Feeling better?” Ezra asks, his voice casual but his eyes sharp.
I can’t hear Noah’s response, but I see Ezra’s eyebrows rise slightly.
“Food poisoning, huh?” He glances at me, and I quickly look away, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern on my wine glass. “Funny, that’s exactly what I’ve been told. By HR,” he adds sternly.
My cheeks burn. I’m going to kill Noah for calling right now, of all times. Couldn’t he have waited another hour? Or, better yet, tomorrow?
Ezra turns away slightly, lowering his voice. “No, she’s actually here right now. Yes, for dinner.” A pause. “I see.”
I drain my wine glass in one desperate gulp, earning a raised eyebrow from Martin, who’s watching me like I’m the most entertaining show he’s seen in weeks.
“Well, if you’re feeling up to it, why don’t you join us?” Ezra says, and my heart stops. “There’s plenty of risotto.”
