Chapter 15
TARA
If I thought Alfie was quiet before, it’s nothing compared to the silence radiating off him now as we approach L’étoile.
The restaurant practically screams money, with its limestone exterior and an actual doorman.
I resist the urge to check my reflection again in the polished brass fixtures, though I know my white and gold dress looks damn good.
The Spencers had arrived in Mountain Springs that morning.
“Your hands are shaking,” Alfie murmurs.
“What? No, they’re—” I look down. Oh. “Maybe a little.”
He takes my hand, and I’m about to make a joke about method acting when I realize his fingers are cold. “Hey”—I squeeze them—“we’ve got this.”
The ma?tre d’ leads us through the main dining room, all crystal and candlelight and the kind of wealth that doesn’t need to announce itself. The private dining room is already half full with Alfie’s extended family—the Spencers, the Bollingdons, and what seems like half of Mountain Springs’ elite.
“Darling!” Mrs. Spencer’s voice carries perfectly, like she’s had lessons in how to project warmth without volume. She rises gracefully, dark hair and sharp features so similar to Alfie’s.
“Mother.” Alfie’s fingers tighten on mine as his brother Drake approaches, trailing a woman who looks like she stepped out of a country club catalogue.
“Little brother,” Drake’s voice booms. “Glad you could make it. Everyone’s so eager to meet your girlfriend.”
The way he says ‘girlfriend’ makes it clear exactly what he thinks of me. His wife Lisa’s eyes linger over my dress before she offers the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
The interrogation starts immediately. Mrs. Spencer gestures me to a seat beside her while Drake whisks Alfie away to talk “business.” I’m suddenly surrounded by perfectly coiffed women who probably use “summer in the Hamptons” as a verb.
“So, tell us,” Lisa practically purrs, “where exactly did you and Alfie meet? He’s been so mysterious about the whole thing.”
Before I can speak, Marcie Bollingdon cuts in. “Oh, leave her be, Lisa. Not everything needs to be an interrogation.”
I try not to stare, but it’s hard. Marcie is nothing like I expected—runway model elegant with kind eyes that throw me completely off balance. This would be so much easier if she were awful.
“We met through my brother,” I say, sticking to the truth. “He’s Alfie’s roommate.”
“How quaint.” Lisa’s smile shows too many teeth. “And what does your family do?”
My eyes drift to Alfie across the room. He’s standing with suited men, expression glazed over as Drake holds court. “They’re professors.”
“Academics!” Lisa’s voice carries just enough to draw attention.
“How... enriching. Tenure, I assume?” Alfie’s mother adds.
I nod, watching Alfie knock back his whiskey. His shoulders are so tense they’re practically touching his ears.
“And you, dear?”
“Oh, I work in the bar in town. Luzia? It’s pretty fancy.”
Mrs. Spencer’s nose wrinkles.
“But surely you’re not planning to tend bar forever?” Lisa’s hand shoots out to grip my wrist when I start to rise. “What are your actual career plans?”
I resist rubbing where she grabbed me. These people are vipers.
“Not everyone had their lives mapped out at birth,” Marcie says quietly. “Some of us are still figuring it out.”
The way she says it makes me shrink a little.
Poor little Tara, still finding her way. I watch Alfie reach for another drink and make a decision. Screw etiquette.
My fingers find the kunzite pendant automatically, drawing strength from its weight. Mrs. Spencer’s eyes follow the movement, something calculating in her gaze.
“That’s a rather unique piece,” she says, voice carefully neutral.
“It was a gift,” I reply simply. “If you’ll excuse me”—I stand, ignoring Lisa’s perfectly manicured frown—“I need to save my boyfriend from death by small talk.”
I slide up beside Alfie just as his father is mid-lecture about market diversification. “There you are,” I say brightly, slipping my hand into his. His fingers close around mine automatically, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I was just thinking about your fascinating research.”
That gets Alfie's attention. His head snaps toward me, but I just squeeze his hand. Trust me.
“Research?” Mr. Spencer’s stern expression shifts as I mention Alfie’s work. “The... geology project?”
“The high-pressure mineral synthesis study,” I correct, recalling how Alfie’s hands start waving around whenever he talks about it. “The implications for understanding super-Earth core compositions are fascinating. Professor Hammond says it could revolutionize planetary formation theory.”
Drake snorts into his whiskey. “Rocks and ice. Very... academic.”
“Actually,” I turn to him, unleashing my sweetest smile, “it’s about fundamental questions of habitability on other worlds.
The kind of research NASA and SpaceX are investing billions in.
” I glance meaningfully at his expensive watch.
“Smart money is paying attention to planetary science these days.”
The shift in the air is subtle but immediate. Mr. Spencer straightens, suddenly interested. “NASA, you say?”
“Mm-hm. Dr. Zhang from CalTech is specifically coming to review Alfie’s findings.” Alfie takes a sharp intake of breath beside me. “But I probably shouldn’t say more. Confidentiality agreements and all that.”
“CalTech?” Drake’s dismissive tone wavers. “I didn’t know you were interested in going there?”
Alfie shrugs. “Yeah, I might be doing post-grad research there.”
“Wow. Staying in academia.” Drake’s face twists. “That’s... nice.”
“It is nice.” I beam at him. “One of the top research institutions in the world. Their planetary science program only accepts two PhD candidates a year. Very exclusive.”
Mr. Spencer is studying his younger son with new consideration. “You never mentioned CalTech.”
“It wasn’t relevant,” Alfie says quietly, but his hand squeezes mine.
“Everything’s relevant in this family, darling,” Lisa appears with fresh drinks. “Especially career moves that could affect the family image.”
“Oh, it probably only matters if you’re born into the family,” I reply, matching her syrupy tone. “Instead of just marrying into it.”
Drake chokes on his drink. Lisa’s perfect smile freezes. Even Mr. Spencer’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“Actually,” I cut in, noticing how Alfie’s glass is empty again, “would you mind if I borrowed him for a moment?”
I tug Alfie toward the terrace before anyone can object. The night air is cool, and we’re finally, blessedly alone.
“Breathe,” I tell him softly.
He lets out a shaky exhale. Damn, he really does look good tonight. “How did you know all that about my research?”
“I listen when you talk, you know. Even when you think I’m not paying attention because I’m trying to make you laugh.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “You don’t have to defend me to them.”
“I wasn’t defending you. I was showing them what they’re too stupid to see themselves.
” I straighten his collar where it’s gone askew.
“You’re brilliant, Alfie. What you’re doing matters.
And if they can only understand it when it’s framed in terms of profit margins and social status, that’s their loss. ”
He stares at me for a long moment, then lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my skin.
My heart definitely doesn’t skip at the gesture. That would be ridiculous. This is all pretend, remember? He’s probably only doing it because someone might be watching through the windows. Right?
Back inside, dinner is a minefield of crystal and silverware.
Three different forks, two types of spoons, and what I’m pretty sure is a tiny sword for seafood.
But Marcie, who ends up beside me in the seating shuffle, just winks and whispers, “Work from the outside in. That’s all anyone needs to know. ”
It’s annoyingly hard to dislike her, especially as she describes her recent trek through Nepal.
“Everyone thought I was insane,” she says, gesturing with her wine glass.
“Marcie Bollingdon, hiking the Annapurna Circuit alone?’ But watching the sunrise hit those peaks.
..” The corners of her eyes crinkle, her face alive with energy.
Something twists beneath my ribs. Two years ago, I’d been accepted to study abroad at Oxford. A whole year exploring Europe, diving into everything I loved. But Troy was here, my parents wanted me close, and it felt safer to stay. Comfortable.
Drake circles the table like a shark, giving everyone smiles and keeping conversations flowing in approved directions.
I glance at Alfie, seated across and two spots down.
He’s barely touched his food, but his wine glass is suspiciously empty again.
His mother keeps shooting him pointed looks every time he reaches for a refill.
“Of course, we always hoped...” Mr. Bollingdon’s voice carries down the table, wine making him too loud. “Well, everyone expected Alfie and Marcie would...”
The whole table goes still. Even Drake stops circling.
Marcie sinks in her chair. “Daddy, please.”
“What? It’s not like we didn’t all have hopes!” He waves his glass. “The Spencer-Bollingdon pairing would have been perfect! Instead...” He peers at me blearily. “No offense, dear, but what exactly do your people do again?”
If the floor could open up and swallow me whole, that would be great.
“My parents are academics,” I repeat, wondering why these people are so obsessed with bloodlines and backgrounds.
“Well, I’m just saying it makes more sense that our Marcie and Alfie would be together.”
“Daddy!” Marcie’s face flames red.
“I think he’s had a little too much wine,” Mrs. Bollingdon murmurs.
Lisa sips her own glass. “He’s right, you know. The Spencers and Bollingdons do have such a history.”
Alfie’s eyes are tracking me, but I don’t dare look at him. I’m not sure what I’ll see in his face, and I’m not sure which would be worse, agreement or pity.
Troy’s voice echoes in my head, something he always says when things get awkward. “If you can’t be smooth, be funny.”
I straighten in my chair, raising my wine glass.
“Well, Mr. Bollingdon, my people are actually quite fascinating. We’re part of an ancient society of academics who’ve mastered the art of surviving on nothing but ramen noodles and spite.
Very exclusive. Some say we’re descended from dragons, but personally, I think that’s just what happens when professors don’t get enough sunlight. ”
Complete silence follows. Then Marcie snorts into her wine glass, trying desperately to hold back laughter.
“Dragons!” Gran’s sharp laugh rings out. “Oh, Harold would have loved you. He always said science needed more people willing to make fools of themselves.”
Gran’s eyes find Alfie. “Harold always said the Spencer men either chase money or chase stars. And I know which one you take after, dear.”
Drake snorts into his wine. “Yes, well, granddad said a lot of things toward the end, didn’t he?”
The temperature at the table drops ten degrees. Gran’s eyes sharpen, all confusion gone. “Careful, Drake. Your grandfather might have been dying, but he wasn’t wrong.” Her gaze sweeps over his expensive suit.
As dinner winds down, Mrs. Spencer corners me on the terrace. “Tara? I thought we might have a chat.”
Something in her tone makes me want to run. Instead, I straighten my spine. “Of course.”
“I sit on the board of several museums,” she says casually, “including the Natural History Museum. We have quite the partnership with London – exchange programs, research opportunities...” She trails off meaningfully. “The right introduction can open so many doors.”
My stomach drops as I realize where this is going. “That’s very kind, but—”
“Darling, let’s be frank.” Her perfect smile never wavers. “You and Alfie... it’s sweet, really. But we both know it can’t last. Different worlds, different expectations.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Why waste time on something temporary when you could be building your future?”
She hands me something. I turn it over in my palm.
The business card feels heavy in my hand.
Another person trying to “handle” my life, decide my path.
I think about Mom and Troy’s careful lies about Dad, their perfectly crafted protection of poor fragile Tara.
At least Mrs. Spencer is direct about her manipulation.
“Think about it. Your dream career, everything you want, just waiting. All you need to do is step aside. Let Alfie find someone more suitable.” Her eyes gleam. “Someone like Marcie, perhaps?”
The worst part is, for just a second, I understand why Alfie keeps himself so guarded. Why he expects every relationship to be a transaction. Standing here, watching his mother try to negotiate his happiness like a business deal, it all makes horrible sense.
“Connections are everything in this world, dear.” She places a cold hand on my arm. “The right word from me could change your life.”
“Thank you for the offer,” I say quietly, “but I think—”
“Don’t answer now.” She pats my arm. “Sleep on it. Think about your future.” Her smile sharpens. “Just remember - opportunities like this don’t come along every day.”
She turns to go, then pauses. “Oh, and Tara? Let’s keep this between us. No need to upset anyone unnecessarily.”
I stand there long after she’s gone, feeling sick.
The truly twisted thing is, she probably thinks she’s being kind.
Offering me a way out while getting what she wants.
But all I can think about is Alfie’s face when his grandmother mentioned his grandfather, the way he lit up talking about CalTech, how desperately he’s fighting to be his own person.
And I realize something, I might have started this night pretending, but somewhere between defending his research and watching him struggle to breathe, it stopped feeling like an act.