Chapter 31 Silva
Silva
When the day finally arrived that Tate met her family, Silva considered that it had taken all five years of heartache to get to where they were. And somehow, the last few months had nearly felt as long.
She invited her mother and grandmother over for lunch. That was it. Simple.
She put down a lovely lace tablecloth, ordered an afternoon tea service to go from the little shop in town, and placed the tiny finger sandwiches on her own three-tiered plates, using the tea set her grandmother had given her as a wedding gift.
Tate and Aelin had gone to pick up an order she’d placed at the farm, keeping them both out of the house while she got ready, keeping Tate from spiraling into cleaning her HVAC system, as she knew he would, returning home just in time to wash up and get dressed before their company arrived.
She put Aelin in one of her sweetest dresses, one of her most darling little cardigans from Tate’s mother, pinning back her chestnut curls with a huge bow.
“Why don’t you get dressed?” she directed at Tate, who was hovering in the doorway as she finished Aelin’s hair. “Your clothes are on the bed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why do I need to get dressed? Do we have plans? What are you up to, dove? Where are we going?”
She looked up, giving him her most innocent kitten smile. “We’re going to the dining room, and that’s a lot of questions. Go on.”
Having a tiny sliver of his clothes in her closet made her stomach flip every single time she pulled open the door, seeing them there beside her own.
Home. Are you family? Obviously, we are.
The crisp dress shirt she had chosen for him was a dusty violet with a gray undertone, one that made his golden eyes pop and his skin glow.
Gray dress pants, a black belt, and his favorite watch, the one with the bees.
His necklace was no longer his, having been commandeered by Aelin long ago, worn double-looped around her tiny neck for special occasions like this.
His eyes had filled with tears the first time he’d noticed her wearing it, fingering the locket and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her long ear.
Silva glanced at her phone, knowing they were likely only minutes away, when she turned to him at last.
“I love you. And you love me. And we both love our daughter. And remember what Zola said? You’re a great bullshitter. So I need you to put your professional barman smile on and bullshit your way through the next two hours. Okay?”
“Silva, what are you —”
The doorbell rang at that moment, his eyes narrowing immediately.
“Silva.”
“Nana is here, mommy! With Nani!”
She watched his face the moment when his eyes widened in panic, shooting back to hers with a wounded look of betrayal.
Silva pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart thumping in double time.
“If I had told you, you would have spent the whole morning cleaning the gutters. This is better. I promise.” She stood on her tiptoes, pulling his shoulders until he bent just enough for her to reach the corner of his mouth with her lips.
“No regulating yourself. Survival mode time. Fake it till you make it, killer.”
Everything was different now that Aelin was here, Silva had the realization that day at lunch, when he was still in the hospital. And then her grandmother had all but confirmed it the afternoon when they were out shopping.
“I’m so glad you’re home, darling. Both of you.
I love you both so much, and she’s such a perfect little dear.
She’s so like you when you were that small.
” Her grandmother had tears in her eyes, looking down on Aelin fondly, holding Silva’s mother’s hand, walking just a few feet ahead of them.
“You should think of having another one. You’re too good at this not to. ”
Aelin didn’t look anything like her. It was a fact that was more glaringly obvious to Silva with each day that passed, as Aelin grew into her big girl face, losing more of her baby features with each passing week.
All they would need, Silva realized, was to see him.
They would see him and they would understand immediately, because it was impossible not to.
And because Aelin was already there, was already spoiled and adored, it wouldn’t matter.
They wouldn’t go back on loving her as much as they did, not now.
Silva knew that down to her marrow. And if the tacit suggestion that she have another child wasn’t an invitation for them to be introduced to her non-Elvish lover, Silva didn’t know what was.
Aelin exclaimed in delight when they came to the door, immediately dragging them off to see her bedroom. Her mother was the first to reemerge, moving up the short hallway and stepping into the dining room already speaking, immediately halting when she realized Silva wasn’t alone.
Silva watched as if it were happening in slow motion.
Her mother’s eyes taking him in quickly, widening in surprise, moving up from the ground, taking in his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his tusks .
. . and the fine features of her beloved granddaughter. Her eyes were tight and inscrutable.
“Oh.” It was a tiny breath of a declaration, nothing more. It could have been mere surprise that there was someone else joining them, but Silva knew better. Oh.
Her grandmother was next, holding Aelin’s hand, listening to her chatter about the chipmunk in the backyard, their entry into the room reaching its natural pause, her grandmother’s eyes raising, eyes widening in instant understanding.
For a long moment none of them said anything, beyond the oblivious little girl, already pulling out her chair at the table.
“Mother, Nana, this is Tate. I thought it was past time you met.”
She turned to him, relieved to find he had already slipped on his mask.
Zola probably wouldn’t approve. She likely wouldn’t approve of his plan for her unbinding either, or the poker or the illegal street racing, the pool hustles, the drinking bets with strangers .
. . but some things were not for therapy.
Some things were just for them. He had already slipped on his Front of House mask, warm and inviting, and she knew his tone would be as light and musical as it had been in the Clover dining room.
He could spiral clean later. Right now, he needed to survive this.
Silva hooked her pinky around his, making it clear to her mother and grandmother what this was.
“Tate, this is my mother and my grandmother. Like I said. Past time.”
She listened with half an ear for the next hour and a half.
He somehow managed to engage her grandmother in a conversation about China patterns, veering seamlessly into moon temple traditions and how much they’d changed.
Her grandmother’s eyes had been wide, her ears darkening with the realization that he was Silme.
He was polite. He was charming. He was nothing less than the perfect Elvish suitor, as she had always known he would be, only better now, because this wasn’t one of her silly, unattainable daydreams.
This was real life, on her terms. Tate, exactly as he was. Just Silva. Doing their best.
They got through their entire lunch before Aelin shrieked, pointing wildly at the back door, nearly falling off her chair.
It was a strange cat, clearly cornering some small creature on the terrace, undoubtedly Aelin’s chipmunk.
Tate was out of his seat before Silva could react, crossing the small room in a single stride, pulling open the door without hesitation. Aelin scrambled after him.
“Away with ya, greedy little beast!”
The cat ran around the house, the chipmunk darted back to Dynah’s drain spout, and Aelin shrieked like a storm goddess, waving her fists in the direction of the stray.
“This is the man you worked for,” her mother gritted out, her voice tightly controlled. “Before. You said . . . you said he’s Silme? And he owns a restaurant?”
Silva could tell by the way she held her eyes, fixed on the tablecloth, her jaw tight, that her mother wasn’t happy.
Wasn’t happy . . . but was searching for something to latch onto.
Now that things were different. Now that they knew she would leave.
Now that they understood her life was hers to live.
“Yes. And I tried to be happy without him, Mother. And you see how that ended.”
“And he’s her. . .” Her mother trailed off, and Silva nodded.
It was all they needed to know.
“Darling,” her grandmother blurted. “He-he could give you another.”
They all turned, watching Tate swing Aelin up to sit on his shoulders, reaching the kite she’d gotten stuck on the edge of the roof the previous night.
Her mother’s eyes were still tight, and Silva knew she’d never understand, but she was far past the point of caring, and it didn’t matter besides.
Dowagers were at the top of the food chain, and her grandmother had spoken.
All she wanted was great-grandchildren in her jubilation years.
“That’s definitely something to think about,” Silva hummed.
After they were alone that night, after Aelin had been read to and kissed and was tucked into her bed, hugging her stuffed rabbit, after he had threatened to simply die of stress that night while he slept and would consider doing exactly that if “you ever pull a bleedin’ stunt like that again, you little chisler,” Silva curled against him, her head on his chest, listening to his elevated heart rate, still not settled.
It had taken five long years, full of dangerous detours and heartache and learning to be whole . . . but she had gotten everything she wanted. Everything she’d always wanted.
And wasn’t that simply what she deserved?