Chapter 13
CINDY
L uke pulls Holt’s massive truck up to Savor’s side entrance, and my stomach drops at the sight of the packed parking lot. Every space filled, people milling around the entrance, waiting for tables. Saturday night at the hottest restaurant in town, of course Mother would pick this.
“It’s like the whole town’s here,” Luke mutters, maneuvering the beast of a vehicle into the loading zone.
He throws it in park with the confidence of someone who’s never gotten a ticket in his life.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I clasp them together, but that just makes the shaking more obvious.
“Hey.” Luke’s hand covers both of mine. “You’re gonna be fine.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
“No, but I know you. And you’re tougher than you think.”
Arrow appears at the entrance just as we climb out, and my stomach flutters at the sight of him.
He’s dressed in black jeans and a fitted slate-gray button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off forearms dusted with tattoos and corded muscle. The top two buttons are undone, revealing just a hint of ink at his collarbone and enough skin to make my mouth go dry.
There’s a towel slung over one shoulder, a pen tucked behind his ear, and a worn leather apron tied low around his waist. He looks every bit the owner and every bit the problem, as if he stepped out of a gritty-chef calendar shoot and into real life.
His blond hair is pulled back into a messy knot, a few strands falling loose around his temples and his eyes. He scans the parking lot until they find me heading his way to him.
That crooked smile tugs at his mouth, lazy and knowing, like he’s already got my number and he’s just waiting for me to admit it.
“Your mom’s here,” he says without preamble. “After you texted us on your drive over that she booked here, I found her easily. And you’re in for a surprise.”
“God, don’t say that.” My voice cracks. “Today has already had too many surprises.”
“Well, she’s the one who booked the big group table for twelve, and everyone’s here but you two.”
The ground tilts beneath my feet. She brought nine other people with her? That’s not dinner with my mother. That’s a fucking ambush.
“Oh, fuck me, no she didn’t!”
My breathing dips, too fast, and my head spins slightly. I’m about to have a full panic attack in the parking lot of Savor. The edges of my vision blur. My heartbeat sounds too loud in my ears.
“I can’t do this. I can’t?—”
“Hey, hey.” Luke is in front of me suddenly, hands on my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
Arrow moves to my other side, and between them I feel less like I’m going to float away. “You’re not alone here,” Arrow adds, his deep voice steady. “We’ve got your back.”
“She brought nine more people to meet my fake boyfriend.”
“Then we give them a show,” Luke says simply, not appearing alarmed in the slightest.
“Let’s take you both in through the front so it doesn’t look sus,” Arrow continues, and his dark eyes sweep over me with genuine appreciation. “And by the way, you look absolutely gorgeous.”
He winks, and despite the terror clawing at my chest, my traitorous body responds with a flutter of my heart. Even in the middle of a panic attack, apparently I’m not immune to his charm.
“Oh, fuck, I almost forgot.” Heat floods my cheeks. “Don’t call me Cindy. My real name is Cynthia.”
Luke grins. “I know. Heard Van call you that at the Harvest Dance, remember?”
Arrow clears his throat. “Shall we? Your audience awaits.”
God, that terrifies me.
Luke takes my hand, fingers interlacing with mine, and I let myself lean into his strength. As we enter the restaurant, heads turn. A table of college girls actually stops mid-conversation to stare at Luke, mouths parted, eyes wide, like they’ve just seen a celebrity walk in.
And honestly? I get it.
In his crisp button-down and dark jeans, with that fresh haircut sharpening every brutal line of his face, he looks like a man you dream about and never survive. Effortlessly hot. Lethal in the prettiest way. The kind of man who could break your heart just by smiling, and they want him to.
Arrow leads us through the main dining room, past tables of curious diners trying not to stare, through the back door and outside where?—
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
The marquee is stunning. Like something from a magazine or a movie about rich people’s garden parties.
White fabric drapes from the beams of a peaked pergola towering at least fifteen feet high, with tiny lights strung throughout, swaying gently in the open night air.
Crystal chandeliers hang at intervals, casting rainbow patterns when they catch the light.
Heating lamps disguised as elegant bronze sculptures keep the October chill at bay.
The table is even worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.
It’s oval, stretched to accommodate twelve place settings, and covered in white linen.
Silver chargers under bone china plates, more forks and spoons than anyone needs for one meal, and crystal glasses.
The centerpieces are elaborate arrangements of burgundy and cream roses mixed with eucalyptus and something that might be actual gold-dusted branches.
And around that table, ten faces turn to look at us.
My throat closes up. They’re all here. Family members who’ve made me feel small, insufficient, not quite enough.
At the far end of the oval sits my mother, positioned like a queen holding court.
Victoria Williams. She looks exactly as I remember.
Cream silk blouse, pearls that belonged to my father’s grandmother, steel-gray hair styled in that way that looks effortless but takes two hours and a professional.
Her eyes, the same hazel as mine but colder, lock on to me with laser focus.
To her right, two empty chairs wait like threats.
“You got this,” Luke whispers in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “You don’t owe them anything.”
There’s Mother’s Aunt Beatrice, seventy-five and mean as a snake, dripping with diamonds.
My cousins Sarah and Emma with their matching husbands, both named James, which would be funny if they weren’t such assholes.
Father’s nephew Trevor and his fiancée, Monica, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
My Omega cousins, the twins Lisa and Laura, already whispering behind their hands like we’re still in high school.
I lift my chin, summoning every ounce of fake confidence I’ve learned from watching Harper bulldoze through life.
“Look who finally arrived!” Mother’s voice carries across the space, pitched to sound delighted but with that undertone that says You’re late and everyone knows it.
Luke’s hand tightens on mine, and then he’s moving forward, dragging me with him.
“Amazing to meet you all!” His voice booms with the kind of confidence I’ll never have. “I’m Luke, Cynthia’s main squeeze.”
Sarah actually snorts wine through her nose. Emma’s husband, James One, snickers. Mother’s smile freezes like someone hit pause on her face.
“Hi, everyone,” I manage, surprised that my voice works at all. “What a surprise to see you all here.”
“Surprise?” Mother stands, arms open like she wants a hug. “Sweetheart, I told you we were having dinner.”
“You said we . You and me and my boyfriend. Not the entire extended family tree.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” She air-kisses my cheeks, European style, which she started doing after one trip to Paris. “Everyone’s been dying to meet your young man.”
We make our way to our seats, Luke’s hand on my lower back warm through the fabric of my dress. I sink into the chair next to Mother, and Luke settles beside me with Aunt Beatrice on his other side. We’re trapped, bookended by judgment.
“So this is him,” Mother says, examining Luke as though he’s a horse she’s considering buying. “You’re quite… large.”
“Mother!”
“What? It’s an observation.” She turns to Luke. “Cynthia, introduce us properly.”
“Mother, this is Luke Brennan. Luke, my mother, Victoria Williams.”
Luke leans over me to give her a hug, and I watch Mother’s eyes widen as she’s engulfed by his arms. She’s not a small woman, but he makes her look delicate.
“My, you are a very big boy, aren’t you?” She pulls back, eyes immediately zeroing in on the tattoos visible on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up. Her fingers reach out, actually tracing the skull wrapped in chains. “And such interesting artwork. Is this real?”
“All real,” Luke confirms, not pulling away even though I can feel the tension radiating from him. “Got this one when I was nineteen. Buddy of mine had just opened his shop, needed practice. Hurt like a bitch—sorry, hurt quite a lot, but worth it.”
“Luke, she doesn’t need to know?—”
“No, no, I’m fascinated.” Mother’s fingers are still on his skin, and I want to slap them away. “Each one must have a story. This blade here, is that significant?”
“Got that one after a particularly rough period in my life,” Luke explains. “See, I was working security for this company that dealt with—well, let’s just say they weren’t entirely above board, and there was this incident with a shipment?—”
“Luke.” I put my hand over his. “She doesn’t need your whole life story.”
“But I want to hear it,” Mother insists, finally releasing his arm. “After all, you’ve kept him such a secret. We have so much catching up to do.”
The interrogation begins immediately.
“So how exactly did you two meet?” Aunt Beatrice leans forward, her numerous necklaces clanking.
“The Harvest Dance last year,” Luke answers. “Halloween night. She was dressed as… what was it, baby? A witch?”
“Brewery witch,” I mutter.
“Right, brewery witch. Creative. Anyway, I saw her across the room and just…” He makes a gesture like his head exploded. “Had to meet her.”
“Really?” Sarah’s voice drips with disbelief. “Our little Cynthia caught your eye in a room full of people?”