Chapter 4: The Mother-In-Law Test

The third place setting was the giveaway.

Crystal. Silver. White roses centered on the table.

Not for me. Not for him.

For someone who had no business being there.

I was still staring when the sound of heels struck the marble.

Sharp. Costly. The stride of a woman who had never heard the word no.

She didn’t wait for an introduction.

“Oliver,” she said, brushing a kiss against his cheek.

Then her gaze drifted to me—slow, measuring.

Blue. Exactly like his.

“You must be Nadia.”

Mrs. Vance.

The mother-in-law test.

And I was standing there in cream silk with zero contingency plan.

Oliver rose. “Mother. This is Nadia.”

“Nadia,” she echoed, as if sampling the name on her tongue.

“How lovely. Sit, dear.”

Dear.

Of course.

Dinner began before I had a chance to catch my breath.

Soup I didn’t want. Wine I had no business drinking.

And questions—endless questions.

“So the charity gala,” she said, blotting her lips.

“Six months ago. That’s when you met?”

“Yes,” Oliver answered for me. “June. Boston.”

“I don’t recall seeing you there, dear.”

“I was working the event,” I replied, voice even.

“Bartending. You probably didn’t notice the staff.”

Her smile never reached her eyes. “Of course. The staff.”

Under the table my knee jittered.

Stop.

Rule 3 forbade touching, but it said nothing about knees.

Oliver’s shoe pressed lightly against mine. Once.

A warning.

I stilled.

“What do you do, Nadia?” she asked.

“I’m a—”

“She’s between jobs,” Oliver interrupted. “She’s focusing on us right now.”

Us.

The word landed strangely.

His mother nodded as though she accepted it. She didn’t.

The fish arrived, followed by vegetables I couldn’t identify.

With every course she pressed harder.

“Where are your parents?”

“Gone,” I said. “My mom’s sick. That’s why I—”

“That’s why we’re moving fast,” Oliver finished.

His hand shifted beneath the table.

Not taking mine.

Just resting there, pinky grazing mine.

Rule 3, broken.

I didn’t pull away.

“And the ring,” she said. “May I see it?”

I extended my hand.

She took it, turned it.

“This was my grandmother’s setting,” she murmured.

“Oliver had it reset.”

She released it. “It looks good on you.”

It was not praise.

Dessert arrived—berries and quiet.

At last she set her spoon aside.

“Well. I’ll be honest, Nadia.

Oliver brings home a lot of girls.

Pretty ones. Smart ones.

They never last.”

Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Mother.”

“I’m simply saying,” she continued. “This is different.

Marriage in thirty days.

I want to be certain my son isn’t making a mistake.”

The air turned icy.

I should have stayed silent. Rule 2: speak only when spoken to.

But I was finished being discussed as if I weren’t sitting right there.

“I’m not a mistake,” I said.

She blinked.

“I know it’s fast. I know it looks strange.

But I care about him.

And I’m not going anywhere in a hundred days.”

The words hung between us.

Too frank. Too much.

Oliver stared at me—really stared.

As if he’d forgotten I had a voice of my own.

His mother rose. “Interesting.”

She kissed his cheek once more. “Call me tomorrow, Oliver.”

Then she left without a word to me.

The moment the door shut, I let out a breath.

My hands trembled.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“I know.”

“Rule 2.”

“I know.”

He stayed quiet a long while.

Then he reached across the table

and took my hand—genuinely this time.

No cameras. No audience.

“Thank you,” he said.

It was the first touch that hadn’t felt like performance.

Later upstairs I slid the ring off

and set it down.

My finger felt cold.

My phone buzzed.

You did good.

She hates you a little less now.

— O

Day 3.

97 left.

Rule 1: His wing is off-limits.

Rule 2: Separate bedrooms.

Rule 3: No touching.

Tonight I broke two of them.

And the worst part?

I’d do it again.