Chapter 8
Céline
Thad’s father ordered the wine before I had even taken off my coat.
A bottle from their own vineyard, of course, though the sommelier already knew that before Mr. Rodriguez said a single word.
The man appeared beside the table with the kind of quiet reverence people usually saved for bishops and billionaires, presenting the label like an offering he hoped would be found worthy.
Mr. Rodriguez tasted it, swirled the glass once, and gave a small nod. “Still too young,” he said, though he smiled as he said it, the way men do when they enjoy pointing out imperfections in something they own. “But it opens well enough for tonight.”
Thad nodded like he understood exactly what his father meant.
I smiled the same way, tilting my head just enough to show I was following along.
The restaurant sat near the harbor, all polished wood and low lighting, with wide windows that looked out on Blackwater’s unfinished grey water and black boats and the blurred lights trembling on the glass.
Outside, the rain kept falling in steady silver lines.
Inside, everything felt warm and expensive, the kind of place where grief looked inappropriate unless it stayed quiet and well-dressed.
So I made mine both. I wore a navy blue Gucci dress that brought out the green in my eyes, the fabric smooth against my skin, and I kept my posture straight and my voice soft.
Thad’s hand rested on my knee beneath the table, heavy and familiar, like a reminder that I belonged in this moment.
His thumb moved once against the fabric of my skirt before it stilled, like he had decided he had given me enough comfort for the night.
Mrs. Rodriguez watched me across the candlelight.
“You look beautiful tonight, Céline,” she said, her voice carrying that elegant severity she wore as easily as her diamond studs.
“Thank you,” I answered, lowering my eyes with the right amount of modesty.
“That’s very kind of you.”
She studied me the way she always did, gaze moving over my face, my earrings, the thin gold bracelet Thad had given me after the funeral. A quiet assessment. I passed. I always passed. Mr. Rodriguez lifted his glass.
“To Katherine Montgomery,” he said.
For a moment, the whole table stilled. Thad squeezed my knee under the cloth. I kept my voice soft.
“To Katherine.” I replied.
Everyone drank. The wine tasted like oak and dark fruit and something faintly bitter that lingered on my tongue too long. I hated red wine but put up with it for Thad.
“I spoke with Edward Montgomery again this afternoon,” Mr. Rodriguez continued, setting his glass down.
“Terrible time to discuss business, obviously, but grief has a way of clarifying what needs to be handled. He wants to move forward with the coastal development project before winter delays everything.”
“Dad,” Thad said, though he did not sound disapproving, only cautious, the way he got when he wanted to look thoughtful in front of his parents.
“What?” Mr. Rodriguez glanced at me. “We are all adults here.”
I gave him the gentle smile I knew he expected. “It’s all right. Mr. Montgomery has always preferred to stay busy when things are difficult.”
That was true enough. Katherine’s mother had cried into my shoulder three days ago so hard I had needed to hold her upright, but yes, the family stayed practical.
Mr. Rodriguez looked pleased by my answer. “Exactly. A practical family.”
Thad leaned closer to me.
“You okay?” His voice had softened, but his face stayed composed.
“I’m fine,” I said, touching his hand lightly. “I promise.”
That satisfied him. It usually did. Across the table Mrs. Rodriguez watched the small gesture with faint approval.
Dinner moved the way dinners with wealthy families always moved, smoothly, with any real danger hidden under expensive silverware and careful conversation.
Mr. Rodriguez asked about my classes. Mrs. Rodriguez asked whether I had thought about taking time away from Bellamont.
Thad told them I was stronger than anyone gave me credit for, then smiled at me as though he had handed me a gift.
I smiled back because I knew how to be loved at dinner tables.
I knew how to tilt my head when men spoke about business, how to laugh softly at jokes that were not funny, how to make mothers believe their sons had chosen well.
I knew how to become the girl who fit beside a future someone else had already paid for.
Thad Rodriguez was not cruel. That made everything harder.
He was handsome and predictable and occasionally kind when he needed to look good.
He opened doors, sent flowers, kissed my forehead in public, and assumed all my silences meant I was simply tired.
With Thad, I could become Mrs. Rodriguez one day.
Not loved deeply, maybe. Not known. But safe.
Safe had once been the most beautiful word in the world to me.
Now, sitting beneath the golden restaurant lights while his father spoke about permits and shoreline rights, I kept hearing Professor Moreau’s voice from the lab.
Break up with him.
I pressed my thumbnail lightly into the side of my wineglass.
No. I would not. Vincent Moreau did not get to walk into my life and steal my choices. I have no idea how much he knows about me, but I will not let him control my life over it.
“You’re quiet,” Thad murmured later, when the plates had been cleared.
“I’m listening.”
His mouth curved. “Always so graceful.”
Graceful. That was what people called you when they liked the way you suffered without making them uncomfortable.
After dinner, his parents kissed the air beside my cheeks and told me they were praying for Katherine’s family.
Mr. Rodriguez shook Thad’s hand before they left, which told me more about their relationship than any family story ever could.
The valet brought Thad’s car around. Rain silvered the windshield. “You don’t have to come over tonight,” Thad said once we were inside, though he had already started driving toward his apartment.
“I know.”
“You sure you want to?”
I turned my face toward the window. The harbour lights smeared across the glass.
“Yes, of course.”
Sophia and Anya were at a charity gala tonight. I did not want to be alone. I did not want to be with him either, but I took my losses.
Thad’s apartment overlooked the marina from the top floor of a restored brick building that used to be some kind of warehouse before rich people discovered exposed beams. Everything inside stayed clean, masculine, and expensive.
Leather sofa. Framed vineyard photographs.
Bar cart arranged more carefully than his bookshelves.
He poured us both a drink neither of us needed. I took mine anyway.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said, loosening his tie. “My mom loves you.”
“She’s very kind.”
“She’s impossible, but she likes you.” He smiled. “That matters more than you think.”
I knew it mattered. That was why I had worked so hard.
He came up behind me near the window and wrapped his arms around my waist. His chin rested briefly on my shoulder.
“You know,” he said, “once all of this settles down, we should think about coming to Napa for a few weeks. Get you away from Bellamont. Dad’s been talking about expanding the hospitality side, and honestly, you’d be incredible at that. People listen to you.”
People listened because I knew what they wanted to hear.
“Maybe,” I said. His mouth brushed my neck.
“Maybe?” He asked.
I leaned back into him because that was what I was supposed to do.
“After the semester,” I said.
His hands moved over my waist, following the familiar path, applying the familiar pressure. “You’re always thinking three steps ahead.”
Someone had to.
His bedroom stayed dark except for the marina lights coming through the windows.
When he kissed me, I kissed him back. When he touched me, I let myself respond the way he expected.
It was easier that way. Easier to become warm and soft and willing.
Easier to let the room blur into breath and skin and the faint smell of his cologne on his sheets.
Thad was not entirely selfish in bed. He tried. He asked the right questions sometimes. Touched me with the earnest confidence of a man who believed effort and success were naturally related.
I gave him the sounds that made him feel generous.
I arched when he slid inside me, slow and steady, his body warm and heavy over mine.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and whispered his name like he was my God.
He moved deeper, hips rolling in the rhythm he liked, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding between us to touch me where he thought I needed it.
I let my breath quicken. I let my nails press into his back.
I let my body tighten around him exactly when he wanted it.
“Come on, babe,” he murmured against my neck, voice rough with effort.
“Let go for me.”
I faked it beautifully. I clenched around him, moaned low and broken, let my thighs tremble the way they would if it were real.
I dug my fingers into his shoulders and gasped his name again, louder this time, the way he liked.
He groaned and finished a moment later into a condom, hips stuttering, body heavy as he collapsed against me.
He kissed my shoulder, whispered something sweet about how perfect I was.
He fell asleep within minutes of discarding the condom, arm slung across my waist, breathing deep and untroubled.
I lay awake beside him. The room had gone quiet. Rain tapped against the windows. It was always raining in Blackwater.
Somewhere below a boat creaked against its mooring. Thad’s breathing deepened beside me, steady and untroubled. I stared at the ceiling.
You are dating Thad because he gives you a future that looks safe from the outside.