Chapter 2: Dinner with the Bears

By the time the old grandfather clock chimed seven, Gwen had changed into the nicest dress she owned — a soft lavender wrap that made her feel a little less like “the help” and a little more like herself.

The dining room was already full when she arrived. Laughter echoed off the high, timbered ceilings, mingling with the clink of silverware and the mouthwatering scent of roasted meat.

Every head turned when she stepped through the doorway.

“Ah, there she is!” boomed a warm, feminine voice. A tall woman with flowing chestnut hair and regal posture rose from the far end of the table. “You must be Miss Grace. I’m Margaret Bearanstein — Arthur’s mother. Please, come in, dear.”

Margaret radiated the kind of elegance that made Gwen instantly self-conscious. Her smile was genuine, but her eyes were sharp — appraising.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bearanstein. It’s a pleasure to—”

“Oh, nonsense.” Margaret waved her hand. “Call me Maggie. Everyone does.”

The others chuckled, and Gwen realized how many of them there were. The table stretched nearly the length of the room — easily a dozen people.

Arthur sat halfway down, shoulders squared, eyes on his plate.

To his left sat two women who shared his dark hair and golden-brown eyes — his older sisters, Gwen guessed. One was tall and athletic, the other softer, her smile quick and mischievous. Both watched her like cats sizing up a bird.

The rest of the table was a blur of relatives — spouses, a few kids whispering and giggling, an uncle with a booming laugh, and a silver-haired aunt who smelled faintly of sage.

Maggie gestured for Gwen to sit beside her, and as she did, Gwen caught Arthur’s gaze. For half a second, he looked like he wanted to object — then he simply nodded and looked away, jaw tight.

“So, Gwendolyn,” Maggie said as a server poured wine into her glass. “You’ve come to help with my husband’s care, yes? How are you settling in?”

“It’s... beautiful here,” Gwen said truthfully. “I’ve never seen a place like this. And Mr. Bearanstein—your husband—seems to be resting comfortably.”

“Good,” Maggie said, eyes softening. “He needs calm energy around him.” She gave a knowing glance toward Arthur. “Not everyone in this house is so easy to keep calm.”

A low grunt came from Arthur’s end of the table. One of the sisters — the mischievous one — laughed.

“That’s an understatement,” she said. “I’m Bethany. That’s Lila. And if you value your peace, Miss Grace, don’t let baby brother here boss you around too much.”

“I don’t boss anyone,” Arthur muttered.

“You command,” Bethany teased sarcastically “Big difference.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Gwen smiled politely, but she couldn’t shake the strange feeling in the air — like every laugh carried an undertone she didn’t understand.

The scent she’d noticed earlier — wild, musky, electric — hung faintly in the room again. It seemed to deepen whenever Arthur moved.

“So, Gwen,” the uncle rumbled from across the table, leaning forward. “Where’s your family from? You’ve got a look about you — like you’ve got a bit of the woods in your blood.”

“Um,” she said, startled. “Ohio. Just... Ohio.”

The table went oddly quiet for a beat.

Then Maggie smiled again, bright and easy. “Well, we’ll make sure you feel right at home here, dear. Family dinners are sacred. Everyone eats together, whether you’re blood or not.”

Her words should have been comforting. But as Gwen looked around the table — the golden eyes glinting in the candlelight, the low laughter that sometimes sounded almost like growls — she wasn’t sure if “family” was the right word.

Arthur finally looked up, meeting her gaze across the table.

“Eat,” he said quietly. “You’ll need your strength.”

The room fell silent again for just a second too long.

Then the conversation resumed, and Gwen smiled like everything was normal — even though her pulse said otherwise.