Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ariana
“This looks incredible,” I said, inhaling the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and butter as Gideon set down a plate containing a beautiful cut of filet mignon in front of me.
“Hope you enjoy it. I’ve been brushing up on my cooking skills these past few months.” He sat at the head of the table and reached for his wife’s hand, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles with an easy familiarity. “That way, Imogene can stay off her feet.”
“I am turning food into a human,” she said dryly, rubbing her round belly. “And you’ve definitely gotten better in the kitchen.”
“You have, actually. It’s been…what? At least three months since you last gave me food poisoning,” Henry teased, taking a slow sip of his wine.
“That was one time,” Gideon argued, pointing his fork at Henry. “And I still contend it wasn’t my fault. I think the spinach had salmonella or something.”
“Right.” Henry rolled his eyes. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“Boys…” Imogene sighed, but her tone carried more affection than annoyance.
I hid my smile behind my wineglass.
I loved this. Loved seeing Henry like this — looser, lighter, his edges softened by comfort. An ordinary man surrounded by people who loved him.
And maybe a man capable of loving in return.
“How about a toast?” Imogene lifted her glass of sparkling water.
We all followed suit.
“To new friends,” she said warmly. “To finding family in unexpected places, and to the kind of company that makes even the darkest days feel a little lighter. Cheers.”
“To new friends,” I murmured in response, and we all clinked our glasses together.
Everything about tonight felt strange. Not because I didn’t enjoy being here. But because it felt so normal. My life had been anything but normal for so long, I didn’t know how to act. I kept thinking it was all a dream I’d soon wake up from. But I didn’t. This was real.
And maybe this could be my life. This could be my new normal. I could be the type of woman to be able to enjoy a laid back, unpretentious dinner with friends.
Real friends.
Not people who pretended to care one minute, then stabbed me in the back the next.
“Thanks again for cooking,” I said to Gideon as I carved into the steak with my knife. “And for including me.”
“Are you kidding?” Imogene interjected. “When Henry said he was bringing you to Atlanta, I threatened to revoke his future godfather status if he didn’t bring you to dinner.”
“When are you due?” I asked, sliding a piece of steak into my mouth. The first bite nearly made me moan. Tender. Buttery. Rich with flavor.
It had been so long since I’d had steak.
Victor never allowed me to eat it.
But he could eat all the steak he wanted.
Hypocrite.
“March fifteenth, but I’m really hoping she comes before then. I already feel like a beached whale.”
I smiled, spearing a brussels sprout. It was caramelized with a hint of maple.
“Henry mentioned you’ve known each other since you were teens,” I remarked to Gideon with a sly smile.
“Don’t fall for it,” Henry warned, his voice playful. “She’s hoping to get dirt on me.”
“It’s only fair,” Gideon shot back. “You gave Imogene the dirt on me when we started dating.” He turned to me, grinning. “Let me tell you something about Henry Fontaine.”
Gideon and Henry may not have been brothers, but they shared many similar features. Dark hair. Tall stature. Strong physique. They both had the look of someone who’d been through hell and survived. I got the feeling they only survived because they had each other.
“He pretends to be tough on the outside, but he’s a complete softie on the inside. You just need to know how to crack him.”
“And how did you crack him?”
“Easy.” He shrugged, taking a bite of steak. “I kicked his ass.”
“Do you have to tell this story?” Henry groaned, but the warm smile on his face told a different tale.
“We were both in the same foster home,” Gideon explained, sipping on his wine. “He hated me on sight. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly easy to like, either. I challenged anyone who looked at me wrong… Including him.”
“He still does,” Henry muttered.
“One day, our social worker got so fed up with us constantly trying to kill each other that he dragged us into the car. Said if we wanted to fight, we needed to learn how to do it properly.” A nostalgic gleam lit up his eyes as he looked into the distance.
“What happened?” I pressed, fascinated by the story. By this part of Henry he’d yet to share with me. It made me want to learn everything about him. The good and the bad.
But I had a feeling even his bad parts were shadowed in good.
“He drove us to a local community center run by Mr. Cooper, a retired Marine who taught martial arts to troubled kids like us. Angry. Lost. Impossible to control. Coop taught us how to channel our anger into something productive.”
“If it hadn’t been for him, we’d probably both be in prison,” Henry commented.
“Or worse,” Gideon added.
They shared a look that said more than words could. It showed the quiet bond between two men who’d walked through the same fire and survived.
“When do we get to the part where you kicked his ass?”
Gideon’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Ah. My favorite part.” He leaned closer. “Want to know what Henry’s biggest weakness is?”
“What’s that?”
“He’s one cocky bastard. Thinks he’s invincible, even though he’s just as human as the rest of us.” He gave Henry a long, knowing look that felt like it carried more meaning than just a teenage memory. “I used that weakness against him.”
“You got lucky,” Henry replied flatly.
“Coop told us no more fighting outside the gym,” Gideon continued, ignoring Henry’s remark. “But one day, he could tell we were both irritated with each other. So he called us to the mat. Back then, Henry was all brawn. No brain.” He laughed under his breath. “I guess he’s still that way.”
“I’m sorry. Were you offered a job by the NSA because of your computer skills?” Henry snipped back.
“You mean hacking skills?” Gideon jabbed.
“Same difference.” Henry winked at me before allowing Gideon to continue his story.
“Anyway, he wasn’t as…methodical as he is now.
He was very much of the mindset to shoot first and ask questions later.
I’ve always been more of a thinker. Always strategizing before making my first move.
That’s what I did here, too. Henry may have been bigger and faster, but I’d been studying him.
I knew exactly what to do to take him out.
He was expecting me to block his jab. Instead, I stepped into him.
Knocked him off his feet and pinned him in three seconds. ”
“Three-and-a-half,” Henry corrected. “And I let you pin me. Madison Winthrop was watching, and I knew you had a thing for her. I was just trying to help you out with the ladies.”
“Sure you were.”
“We can settle it right here and now,” Henry challenged.
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of Ariana.”
“Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of Imogene,” Henry retorted.
“Trust me.” Gideon shifted his attention to his wife, taking her hand in his. “She’s seen me at my absolute worst.”
Something in his tone changed, a subtle shift from teasing to tender.
“And yet she still chose me.”
“It wasn’t even a choice,” Imogene whispered.
Her words echoed in the air, hitting me in a way I hadn’t expected.
I’d spent so long believing love was weakness, a weapon someone could turn against you. Victor had taught me that. He’d made me think trust was just another way to hand someone the knife they’d use to cut you open.
But as I watched Gideon brush his thumb along Imogene’s hand, I realized how wrong I’d been. There was nothing weak about what I saw between them. No games. No masks.
It was real.
I felt Henry’s gaze on me, a slow, steady pull that made it hard to breathe. He wasn’t smiling anymore. The teasing warmth from a few moments ago had been replaced with something deeper. As if he’d been thinking the same thing I had.
I looked away, afraid he might see too much.
If Imogene was right, if love wasn’t a choice, then I was already in trouble.
Because somewhere between Henry’s tender admissions and rare, unguarded smiles, between the way he touched me like I was something fragile and the way he looked at me like I was anything but, I’d already stopped choosing.
And maybe I never had a say in it at all.