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The Tasting

Author: Andrea
last update publish date: 2026-09-09 20:59:50

The venue was beautiful.

I'd chosen it months ago, back when I still believed in fairy tales. It was a restored mansion on the outskirts of the city, with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers and a garden that stretched for acres. The ballroom was large enough for three hundred guests. The terrace overlooked a lake.

It was perfect.

It was a lie.

I stood in the middle of the ballroom, watching the staff set up tables and chairs. White linens. Silver cutlery. Flowers in crystal vases. Everything was exactly as I'd planned.

I felt nothing.

"Clara! Come taste the wine!"

Damon's voice pulled me back to the present. He was standing at the head table, where a selection of wines was laid out. The sommelier was pouring samples.

I walked toward him, forcing myself to smile.

"Sorry," I said. "I was just... thinking."

"About what?"

I opened my mouth to answer. About your father. About how I can't stop thinking about him. About how I'm about to marry you and I don't want to.

"About the menu," I said instead.

Damon laughed. "You're such a perfectionist. It's just food."

Just food. Just the next forty years of my life. Just a lie I'm living every single day.

I took the glass of wine he offered me. I drank it.

"Good?" he asked.

"Good."

He kissed my forehead brief and impersonal and turned back to the sommelier.

I stood there, holding my glass, feeling the weight of everything I'd done.

The door opened.

I didn't need to look up. I knew who it was.

I could feel him before I saw him. The air changed. The temperature rose. Every nerve in my body stood on alert.

"Dad!" Damon's voice was warm. "I didn't think you'd make it."

"I wouldn't miss it." Elias's voice was smooth, controlled. He walked toward the table, his eyes sweeping over me before settling on Damon. "I want to make sure everything is perfect."

Damon clapped him on the shoulder. "You're going to love this wine. It's the one we're serving at the wedding."

Elias took the glass Damon offered him. His eyes met mine.

"I'm sure I will," he said.

I looked away.

We sat down at the table to taste the dishes.

Damon was on my left. Elias was across from me, right where he'd been at the seating arrangement meeting. The same position. The same distance.

The same danger.

The first course arrived a delicate soup with truffle oil. Damon talked to the chef about the ingredients. I stared at my bowl and tried not to breathe.

Under the table, I felt his hand.

His fingers brushed my knee.

I flinched. I dropped my spoon.

"Clara, are you okay?" Damon asked.

"Fine," I said quickly. "I just... the spoon slipped."

I bent down to pick it up. I wanted to push his hand away. I wanted to scream.

I didn't.

I straightened up and took a sip of water.

Elias's hand was still on my knee.

Damon was oblivious, talking to the chef about the main course.

Elias's fingers moved higher.

I clamped my thighs together. I grabbed my glass of water and took a long drink.

"Are you warm?" Damon asked. "You're flushed."

"I'm fine," I said. "The soup is just hot."

Elias's fingers found the hem of my skirt. He lifted it, just slightly. Just enough to touch my skin.

I gripped the edge of the table.

"Clara, you should try the steak," Damon said, pushing a plate toward me. "The chef recommends it."

"I will," I said.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

Elias's fingers were tracing my inner thigh now. Light. Teasing. Driving me insane.

I forced myself to take a bite of the steak. I forced myself to swallow.

"Good?" Damon asked.

"Good," I said.

Elias's fingers slipped higher.

"I'm glad you finally tried it," Elias said. "It's important to appreciate what's in front of you."

His thumb brushed the inside of my thigh.

I almost choked.

"Damon," I said quickly, "could you get me some water? I think I need something colder."

Damon stood up. "Sure. I'll be right back."

He walked toward the kitchen.

As soon as he was gone, I turned to Elias.

"Stop," I hissed.

"Why?" His voice was low. "You're not telling me to."

"Elias—"

"Clara." He leaned forward, his grey eyes burning into mine. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't want me. Look me in the eye and say it."

I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

"You see?" he said. "You can't."

His hand pressed against me. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

"This is wrong," I said, barely above a whisper.

"Then tell me to stop."

"Elias—"

"Tell me." His voice was rough. "Tell me and I'll stop."

I couldn't.

I wanted him to stop. I needed him to stop. But I couldn't say the words.

Because they would be a lie.

"I can't," I whispered.

His hand stilled.

"I know," he said.

Damon returned with the water. Elias's hand was gone.

I took the water and drank it. I ate my steak. I smiled. I nodded. I pretended.

But I felt his eyes on me all night.

And I felt his hands on my skin.

The tasting ended at 9 PM.

Damon drove me home. He kissed me at the door. He said goodnight.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about Elias.

I failed.

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