“I listen when you talk, you know. Even when you think I’m not paying attention because I’m trying to make you laugh.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “You don’t have to defend me to them.”
“I wasn’t defending you. I was showing them what they’re too stupid to see themselves.” I straighten his collar where it’s gone askew. “You’re brilliant, Alfie. What you’re doing matters. And if they can only understand it when it’s framed in terms of profit margins and social status, that’s their loss.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my skin.
My heart definitely doesn’t skip at the gesture. That would be ridiculous. This is all pretend, remember? He’s probably only doing it because someone might be watching through the windows. Right?
Back inside, dinner is a minefield of crystal and silverware. Three different forks, two types of spoons, and what I’m pretty sure is a tiny sword for seafood. But Marcie, who ends up beside me in the seating shuffle, just winks and whispers, “Work from the outside in. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
It’s annoyingly hard to dislike her, especially as she describes her recent trek through Nepal. “Everyone thought I was insane,” she says, gesturing with her wine glass. “Marcie Bollingdon, hiking the Annapurna Circuit alone?’ But watching the sunrise hit those peaks...” The corners of her eyes crinkle, her face alive with energy.
Something twists beneath my ribs. Two years ago, I’d been accepted to study abroad at Oxford. A whole yearexploring Europe, diving into everything I loved. But Troy was here, my parents wanted me close, and it felt safer to stay. Comfortable.
Drake circles the table like a shark, giving everyone smiles and keeping conversations flowing in approved directions. I glance at Alfie, seated across and two spots down. He’s barely touched his food, but his wine glass is suspiciously empty again. His mother keeps shooting him pointed looks every time he reaches for a refill.
“Of course, we always hoped...” Mr. Bollingdon’s voice carries down the table, wine making him too loud. “Well, everyone expected Alfie and Marcie would...”
The whole table goes still. Even Drake stops circling.
Marcie sinks in her chair. “Daddy, please.”
“What? It’s not like we didn’t all have hopes!” He waves his glass. “The Spencer-Bollingdon pairing would have been perfect! Instead...” He peers at me blearily. “No offense, dear, but what exactly do your people do again?”
If the floor could open up and swallow me whole, that would be great.
“My parents are academics,” I repeat, wondering why these people are so obsessed with bloodlines and backgrounds.
“Well, I’m just saying it makes more sense that our Marcie and Alfie would be together.”
“Daddy!” Marcie’s face flames red.
“I think he’s had a little too much wine,” Mrs. Bollingdon murmurs.
Lisa sips her own glass. “He’s right, you know. The Spencers and Bollingdons do have such a history.”
Alfie’s eyes are tracking me, but I don’t dare look athim. I’m not sure what I’ll see in his face, and I’m not sure which would be worse, agreement or pity.
Troy’s voice echoes in my head, something he always says when things get awkward.“If you can’t be smooth, be funny.”
I straighten in my chair, raising my wine glass. “Well, Mr. Bollingdon, my people are actually quite fascinating. We’re part of an ancient society of academics who’ve mastered the art of surviving on nothing but ramen noodles and spite.Veryexclusive. Some say we’re descended from dragons, but personally, I think that’s just what happens when professors don’t get enough sunlight.”
Complete silence follows. Then Marcie snorts into her wine glass, trying desperately to hold back laughter.
“Dragons!” Gran’s sharp laugh rings out. “Oh, Harold would have loved you. He always said science needed more people willing to make fools of themselves.”
Gran’s eyes find Alfie. “Harold always said the Spencer men either chase money or chase stars. And I know which one you take after, dear.”
Drake snorts into his wine. “Yes, well, granddad said a lot of things toward the end, didn’t he?”
The temperature at the table drops ten degrees. Gran’s eyes sharpen, all confusion gone. “Careful, Drake. Your grandfather might have been dying, but he wasn’t wrong.” Her gaze sweeps over his expensive suit.
As dinner winds down, Mrs. Spencer corners me on the terrace. “Tara? I thought we might have a chat.”
Something in her tone makes me want to run. Instead, I straighten my spine. “Of course.”
“I sit on the board of several museums,” she says casually, “including the Natural History Museum. We havequite the partnership with London – exchange programs, research opportunities...” She trails off meaningfully. “The right introduction can open so many doors.”
