I take another measured sip of water, avoiding Alex’s gaze. “No. I’m afraid I forgot everything.”
“That’s a shame,” my mother says, smiling. “Maybe Alex can talk to you, to remind you.”
I choke on my water, and after I’m done coughing, I risk a sneaky look at Alex. He’s staring at me, smirking. Cheeky bastard.
“Vincent,” Yuri says, his voice cutting through my discomfort. “Tell us more about your work. What exactly do these ‘odd jobs’ entail?”
I tense, aware of the trap being laid. “Mostly bartending. Waiting tables. Whatever pays the bills.”
“Modest ambitions,” Yuri comments, the disapproval clear in his tone. “Such talent… wasted.”
The word lands like a slap. Wasted. Because I chose my own path. Because heforcedme to choose it. The hypocrisydoesn’t escape me.
“I wouldn’t say wasted,” I counter, meeting his gaze steadily. “Just applied differently.”
Dessert arrives—some extravagant confection of chocolate and berries that I have no interest in eating. My chest feels tight, the air in the room too thick to breathe properly. Yuri’s presence across the table, Alex’s foot still pressed against mine, Jess’s hand still on his thigh—it’s all too much.
Yuri stands, raising his glass of wine. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he announces, and every muscle in my body tenses. “To family reuniting. To bridges rebuilt. To the return of those who were lost.”
The words seem genuine on the surface, but there’s something underneath them—a current of control. Of threat.
Sweat breaks out across my forehead. The room tilts slightly, the chandelier lights blurring at the edges. I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and pretend that everything is fine, that I’m not terrified of the man at the head of the table, that I’m not drowning in confusion every time I look at Alex.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, pushing back my chair. “I need to use the restroom.”
I don’t wait for a response, just rise on unsteady legs and make my way toward the door. Behind me, I hear the scrape of another chair against the floor, followed by Alex’s voice.
“Vincent, wait.”
I don’t stop. I can’t. If I look at him now, I’ll fall apart completely.
I stumble down the hallway, the familiar path to the guest bathroom a blur through the panic clouding my vision. Alex’s footsteps follow, quick and determined behind me.
Running again,a voice in my head taunts.Always running.
But this time, I know Alex won’t let me get away so easily.
13
Alex
VINCENT STUMBLES INTO THE bathroom like a wounded animal, his body vibrating with tension as he grips the sink with white knuckles. I follow, shutting the door behind us with a soft click of the lock. His eyes avoid the mirror—avoid me—as his breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps. Something twists in my chest at the sight of him coming apart like this.
“Vincent. Look at me.”
He shakes his head, fingers tightening on the porcelain until I’m half-afraid it might crack under the pressure. His shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath. I’ve seen him dance in front of hundreds, strip in front of strangers, yet here he is, falling to pieces in my father’s guest bathroom.
“Was it Jess?” I ask, taking a step closer. “I didn’t want her here. My father insisted.”
Vincent lets out a sound that might be a laugh if it wasn’t so broken.Still, he won’t look at me, won’t meet my eyes in the mirror.
“And what she said about us—that’s bullshit. We’re not even seeing each other anymore.” I move closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Haven’t been for weeks.”
His shoulders tense further at my proximity, but he doesn’t step away. Can’t, with the sink in front of him and me behind.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing.” The word comes out strained and unconvincing.
