Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Dove
Emily doesn’t let the silence linger. She recovers from Cordia’s toast with a terrifying sort of grace, pivoting the conversation to a charity auction she’s organizing, effectively icing Cordia out.
Shane stays quiet, his gaze fixed on his wine glass, his hand resting on the table in a fist that hasn’t relaxed since we sat down.
I try to eat. I push a spear of asparagus around my plate, but my appetite has vanished.
Beside me, Cordia checks her watch. She tosses her napkin onto the table.
“The lamb,” she announces, pushing back her chair. “Should be almost done. I’ll go check it.”
She stands, and I feel a spike of panic. I know I have the rest of the Archer’s here, but I want my best friend right now. The newfound confidence I just summoned wavers at the thought of being the sole target of the woman sitting on the other side of Shane.
I stand before I can think it through.
“I’ll help,” I say. The words come out too quickly, making me breathless.
Emily arches her brow. “I’m sure Cordia can handle an oven, Dove. You’re a guest. Sit down.”
It’s an order, not a suggestion, but she’s also not my mother, nor is she Melanie, so I ignore her. Shane agrees with my dismissal of Emily’s command. He sends me a sharp, tight jerk of his chin. Go.
“She makes a better sous-chef than you do, Em,” Cordia throws over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. “Come on, Dove. Save me from myself.”
I don’t wait for a rebuttal. I turn and follow Cordia, walking out of the dining room with as much dignity as I can muster. I feel Shane’s gaze on my back, a physical weight, burning through the fabric of my dress until I cross the threshold and the heavy oak door swings shut behind me.
The silence of the hallway is instant relief. I exhale, my shoulders dropping three inches.
“Thank God,” Cordia mutters, abandoning her hostess persona the second we are out of earshot. “If I had to listen to one more word about her philanthropy, I was going to stab myself with a butter knife.”
I let out a shaky laugh, falling into step beside her. “She’s... spirited.”
“She’s a nightmare,” Cordia corrects.
Stepping into the kitchen, I’m enveloped by the mouthwatering scent of roasting lamb.
The kitchen is a different world.
“What can I do?” I ask, in regards to helping with last-minute dinner prep.
“Toss the salad,” she orders, gesturing to a massive bowl of greens. “And try not to look so traumatized. We’re almost done.”
I wash my hands and get to work. The repetitive motion of tossing arugula and spinach is grounding.
Cordia nudges my hip with hers. “I saw him, you know.”
I pause. “Saw who?”
“Shane,” she says, a wicked glint in her eye. “The way he looked at you when he defended your honor against the She-Devil. I thought he was going to flip the table.”
Heat climbs up my neck. “He was just being protective.”
“Bullshit,” Cordia says, slicing a strawberry. “He’s my brother. I do not look at him like I want to eat him alive. Shane looks at you like he’s starving.”
My heart gives a traitorous little jump. “He’s with Emily.”
“He’s with a headache in heels. And he’s miserable. Just wait. The cracks are showing.”
She turns to check the lamb, humming a tune, leaving me with my pulse fluttering in my throat. Starving. The word replays in my head, dangerous and intoxicating.
As I pour croutons into the salad, the wine and water I drank runs through me. I need to pee. The nervous energy coursing through me is no help, either.
“Be right back,” I say to Cordia. I’ve been here a million times so I know exactly where the bathroom is.
“Hurry back before I eat all the deviled eggs,” she calls out. She’s just like Theo and Henry with their food obsessions.
I slip out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
The air out here is cooler, quieter. The sounds of the party fade into a low murmur. I walk toward the side parlor which has a half bath connected to it. My footsteps are silent on the plush runner.
The door to the parlor is cracked open an inch. I reach for the handle, intending to push it open and grab my clutch, but I hear Emily’s voice inside.
“Why do we have to stay?” she harshly whispers. “Your sister and that... teacher. It’s embarrassing, Shane. She looks at you like a lost puppy. It’s pathetic.”
I freeze. My hand hovers over the brass knob. The blood drains from my face, leaving me cold and hollow.
Pathetic.
The word hits me like a slap. Is that what I look like? A lost puppy? A child playing dress-up in a room full of adults?
“Drop it, Emily,” Shane’s voice comes through the crack. He sounds exhausted. “She’s Cordia’s friend.”
“She’s obsessed with you,” Emily snaps. “And you encourage it. Holding her hand at the table? Really?”
I hold my breath, waiting. Praying. Defend me, I think. Tell her I matter. Tell her she’s wrong.
There is a pause. A heavy, suffocating silence.
“She’s a child, Emily,” Shane says. His voice is flat. Dead. “She means nothing to me. I’m with you, aren’t I? Just get through the damn dinner.”
The world stops.
It doesn’t shatter. It doesn’t explode. It just stops.
She means nothing to me.
All the heat, the touches, the way he looked at me in the foyer—it was nothing.
I deluded myself. I let Cordia’s teasing and my own desperate crush paint a picture that isn’t real.
To him, I am not a woman. I am not a threat to his relationship.
I am a child. A nuisance. Something to be managed and tolerated until he can go home with his real girlfriend.