“Somebody pass the bread before he marks her with blood or something,” Johnny chimes in, and the table laughs. I bite my lip and look away as everyone fills their plates. Cyan, unlike the others, isn’t loading his plate; he’s staring at me.
“Aria, you look fucking stunning. Be careful with that kind of beauty…” He licks his lips. “My cock’s hard as iron. I had to adjust myself before I stood up to make the speech.”
My fingers tighten on the stem of my glass, but I force myself not to look down. “You’re impossible.” The words slip out on a shaky exhale, but there’s no bite in them. I lift my chin, meeting his eyes. “I… like the dress, too.”
His reaction to me in this dress flusters me. I feel underdressed compared to Thomas’s wife. The sleek navy dress she’s wearing hugs her frame, yet she looks like it didn’t take time at all to throw something on. It complements the men’s pinstripe suits in a way my velvet bohemian dress never could. She’s poised but not flashy. She belongs here in a way I don’t. She glances my way, hazel eyes flicking over me, assessing but not unkind. I offer a friendly smile, and she returns it. A beat later, she looks away, not at her plate, but at Thomas.
I turn back to Cyan, who is still not eating. “You’re not hungry?”
“Ravenous,” Cyan murmurs, his accent like silk-dipped gravel, rich with intent. His gaze never leaves mine. Dark and unrelenting, a slow burn coils low in my stomach. I force my expression to stay neutral, but my fingers tighten around my fork. Instead of taking his bait,
I pick up his plate and fill it with pasta, garlic bread, and salad, placing it in front of him with a clipped reply. “Eat.”
Cyan’s lips twitch, but there’s something thoughtful in his expression as he picks up his fork. “Thank you, Dove.”
I exhale. “No, it’s I who should thank you.”
His head tilts, studying me. “For what?”
I grip my napkin. “For my Nonna. For what you did for her. Why didn’t you just tell me where she was? Instead of letting me think you’d kidnapped her—like she was leverage.”
Cyan sets his fork down, leaning closer. “I never said kidnapped; those were your words, Aria, not mine.”
I huff out a breath. “You could have corrected me.”
His smile is slow, knowing. “Would you have believed me if I had?” Damn it. He’s right. He watches me, amusement flickering in his gaze before it shifts to something deeper. “Besides, I needed you to stay put. Not run headfirst into danger.”
I clench my jaw, irritation sparking. “Next time, Cyan, how about you just try honesty?”
His lips twitch again. “You really think you’re ready for that?”
I open my mouth to snap back, but I don’t have an appropriate answer. Instead, I shift the conversation. “Either way, thank you.”
Cyan takes a drink of his wine. “No thanks needed. The moment I claimed you, your Nonna became my teaghlach.”
I hesitate, then ask, “What does teaghlach mean?” I say, butchering the pronunciation.
Cyan chuckles low and smooth. “It’s Old Irish, meaning family.” There’s something intimate in the way he says it. Like the word itself carries weight.
I tilt my head. “Say it again. Slowly.”
“Teaghlach.”
I try again. “Teaghlach.” It still sounds awful; his grin tells me as much.
“Not quite, Dove.” His eyes are beaming with amusement, but there’s warmth in them, too. I shift slightly, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, a nervous habit. Cyan’s gaze flicks to the movement before he reaches out, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger.
“I love your curls.” I swallow hard, my pulse skipping.
“Okay,” I don’t realize I’ve reached out until my hand brushes his and he takes hold of my fingers. Our gazes collide. For a moment, the rest of the room fades away. The clatter of forks, the murmur of conversation—all gone.
Until I manage to pull my gaze away from Cyan to find every single person at the table watching us. Troy’s grin is lopsided, Rosa beams, and Thomas’s expression is unreadable.
Cyan leans back, voice loud enough for all to hear. “They’re a nosy bunch of fuckers.” The tension shatters, replaced by laughter, and just like that, the moment is gone. But something tells me it’s far from over. Heat prickles at the back of my neck.How long have they been watching us?I try to jerk my hand free from his, but Cyan doesn’t let go. His thumb skims against my palm, tracing the inside of my wrist next to his gift, in a slow and deliberate stroke. A shiver runs through me, betraying me, and the flicker of amusement in his gaze tells me he felt it.
Collin is the first to break the silence. “Mercy me, the sexual tension in this room could set off the fucking smoke alarms.”
Troy barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, someone pass the fire extinguisher before this whole damn table goes up in flames.” I snap my gaze to my plate, mortified. Cyan? His lips twitch, far too pleased with himself. The arrogant bastard is enjoying this.
