12. The dinner table

Zara's POV

The first course arrives, but the tension around the table is thick enough to choke on.

I concentrate on Theo, helping him arrange his cutlery while he quietly examines the food in front of him. He looks uncertain, as though he's afraid of doing something wrong.

"Go ahead, sweetheart," I tell him gently. "You can eat."

He glances toward my father before picking up his fork.

Something inside me twists.

He's three years old. He shouldn't have to check whether he's allowed to eat in his own home.

I reach for my glass of water, determined to keep my temper under control. Unfortunately, my father has never been particularly good at leaving me alone.

"Arabella has been doing excellent work with the charity proposal," Gideon announces, looking proudly at my sister. "She's demonstrated a level of maturity and responsibility that I wish more people in this family possessed."

I don't even need to ask who he's talking about.

Arabella lowers her eyes modestly, pretending she hasn't been waiting all evening for him to praise her.

"Thank you, Daddy. I've worked very hard on it."

"I'm sure you have," I mutter.

My father turns toward me.

"Something you'd like to contribute, Zara?"

"Not particularly. I was enjoying the rare experience of someone else being the centre of attention."

Damon coughs into his glass, disguising what sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

Arabella's smile tightens.

"Some of us actually enjoy contributing something meaningful to the family."

I look at her.

"And some of us enjoy taking credit for things while pretending we've never done anything wrong."

Her expression hardens.

"Must you always bring up the past?"

"Only when the past is sitting across the table wearing an expensive suit."

Victor's jaw tightens.

"Zara, perhaps we should all move on."

I turn my attention to him.

"That's rich coming from you."

"Enough," my father snaps.

I lean back in my chair.

"By all means, Father. Please continue telling us how wonderful Arabella is. I'm sure we can all survive another ten minutes of it."

"Your sister understands the importance of reputation, responsibility, and respect."

"Does she?"

Arabella puts down her fork.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

I give her a sweet smile.

"Nothing. I'm just impressed by your ability to discuss responsibility with a straight face."

"Zara!" my mother exclaims.

"What? Have I said something untrue?"

Arabella's cheeks flush.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea."

Victor shifts uncomfortably beside her.

I glance between them.

"After all, it's not every day someone discovers her fiancé in bed with her own sister."

The table falls silent.

Even the sound of cutlery seems to disappear.

Theo stops eating and looks between the adults, his little face uncertain. I immediately reach for his hand beneath the table and give it a gentle squeeze.

"It's all right, sweetheart," I whisper.

My father looks as though he might explode.

"That is enough!"

"No, actually, I think we're finally getting somewhere."

Arabella stares at me with open hatred.

"You don't get to judge me, Zara."

I laugh without humour.

"You're right. I don't need to judge you. I caught you."

"We fell in love!"

The words burst out of her before she can stop herself.

Victor closes his eyes briefly.

I stare at my sister.

Then I smile.

"Congratulations. I hope the affair was worth what it cost you."

"Don't pretend you're innocent," Arabella snaps. "You were never happy with Victor. You were always too busy fighting, chasing your little underground fantasies, and embarrassing the family."

"At least I never needed to climb into my sister's bed to get a man's attention."

Her hand tightens around her fork.

"You're jealous because I have everything you wanted."

I tilt my head.

"Everything I wanted? You can keep the cheating bastard. I've developed better taste."

Damon lets out a quiet, amused breath beside me.

Victor's face darkens.

"Watch your mouth, Zara."

I turn toward him slowly.

"Or what, Victor? You'll break off our engagement?"

His expression changes.

For a moment, I see the man I used to love. The one who promised me a future, who kissed my forehead and told me I was the only woman he wanted.

Then I remember finding him with Arabella.

The memory no longer hurts the way it once did.

Now it simply reminds me how fortunate I was to discover the truth before marrying him.

"That's enough," Gideon says, striking the table with his palm. "This is a family dinner, not a public spectacle."

"Then perhaps you should stop inviting people who make it one."

His eyes narrow.

"You have become completely unbearable."

"And yet you keep inviting me."

"Because you are my daughter."

The words should mean something.

Once, they would have.

Now they sound like an obligation he's grown tired of fulfilling.

"Then try acting like my father instead of treating me like a family embarrassment."

My mother's expression turns icy.

"Zara, you should be grateful that Damon agreed to marry you."

I slowly turn toward her.

There it is.

The real reason for tonight's dinner.

Not family.

Not reconciliation.

Not even Theo.

It's another opportunity to remind me that I'm the difficult daughter who should be grateful someone was willing to take her off their hands.

I glance at Damon, but his expression has become unreadable.

"Grateful?" I repeat.

Celeste lifts her chin.

"Not every man would tolerate your behaviour. Your attitude, your temper, your complete lack of respect for the people around you. You should consider yourself fortunate."

I place my fork beside my plate.

"Are you finished?"

"Don't take that tone with me."

"Then stop speaking to me as though I'm damaged goods you've managed to sell to the highest bidder."

My father's face turns crimson.

"You will not speak to your mother that way!"

"Then perhaps she should stop treating me like an unwanted guest at her own table."

"You have no grace," he spits. "No respect. No understanding of what it means to be part of this family. If Damon hadn't agreed to marry you, I doubt another man would have been willing to put up with you."

The words land between us.

For a moment, the old pain tries to surface. The familiar ache of being measured against Arabella, of being told I am never enough, of being expected to smile while my family tears me apart.

But I'm not the girl who spent her childhood begging for their approval anymore.

I look directly at my father.

"Then it's a good thing I don't need another man to tolerate me."

Damon's hand settles on the arm of his chair.

I continue before anyone can interrupt.

"I have never asked you to approve of me, Father. I've never asked you to love me the way you love Arabella. And I'm certainly not going to sit here while you discuss my worth as though I'm some damaged possession you're relieved to get rid of."

Arabella rolls her eyes.

"Must everything be about you?"

I turn toward her.

"No. But somehow, whenever you're involved, everyone else's feelings become irrelevant."

"You're being dramatic."

"And you're being predictable."

"Zara, stop this nonsense," Gideon orders. "Sit down and behave yourself."

I glance at my chair.

"I'm already sitting down."

His jaw clenches.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Yes. You want me to shut up, smile politely, and let you humiliate me because that's what makes this family look respectable."

I lean forward, keeping my voice steady.

"Here's the thing, Father. I stopped caring about your reputation a long time ago."

My mother's eyes widen.

"How dare you?"

"Quite easily, actually."

A small movement beside me catches my attention.

Theo has stopped eating.

His little fingers are wrapped tightly around his fork, and he's staring down at his plate. His shoulders have drawn inward, and his expression has gone painfully blank.

He's heard every word.

He's watching every face.

And he's learning exactly what happens when someone in this house makes the adults angry.

I reach for his hand.

"Hey, sweetheart. Look at me."

He slowly lifts his eyes.

"You're not in trouble," I tell him softly. "All right? None of this is your fault."

He nods, but his eyes are already shining.

My heart breaks a little more.

I turn back toward my father.

"Can we at least agree to stop doing this in front of him?"

Gideon looks irritated.

"Do not tell me how to run my household."

"I'm asking you to stop frightening a three-year-old."

"He needs discipline."

"He needs kindness. He needs patience. He needs to feel safe in his own home."

"He's not your responsibility, Zara."

I stare at him.

"Maybe not on paper. But someone in this family should care whether he's happy."

"You're not his mother," Gideon says coldly. "You have no authority to tell me how to raise him."

The words strike harder than I expect, but I refuse to let my father see it.

"I don't need to be his mother to know that a child deserves better than this."

"You are overstepping."

"And you're neglecting what's right in front of you."

"Enough!"

"No, Father. You don't get to tell me to be quiet every time I say something you don't like."

I rise from my chair.

Theo immediately reaches for my hand.

That small movement settles something inside me.

I look down at him, then back at the people around the table.

"You can insult me all you want. You can tell me I'm difficult, disrespectful, or impossible to love. I've heard it all before. But I will not sit here and pretend it's acceptable to make a little boy feel like an inconvenience."

Gideon rises halfway from his chair.

"You will sit down."

I meet his gaze.

"Make me."

The silence that follows is absolute.

Then Damon stands.

His chair slides back across the floor with a low, deliberate scrape.

"That's enough."

His voice isn't loud.

It doesn't need to be.

Every person at the table turns toward him.

Damon places one hand on the back of my chair, his expression cold enough to freeze the room.

"Zara is my wife. You may be her father, but that doesn't give you the right to humiliate her."

Gideon's face changes.

"This is a family matter."

"Then perhaps you should have remembered that before you started treating your daughter like an enemy."

My father draws himself up.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

Damon's grey eyes remain fixed on him.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about."

He glances toward Theo, who is still clutching my hand.

"And that little boy deserves kindness. If the adults in this house can't manage something as basic as that, perhaps they should reconsider who needs to learn some discipline."

Gideon's expression hardens, but something else flickers behind his eyes.

Fear.

Real fear.

For the first time in my life, my father looks at another man and seems uncertain about what might happen if he pushes too far.

Damon takes my handbag from the table and holds it out to me.

"Come on, Little Dove. We're leaving."

I take the bag, but I don't move immediately.

Not yet.

I crouch beside Theo's chair.

"Sweetheart, would you like to come home with me tonight?"

His eyes widen.

"Really?"

"Really. We can get you something nice to eat, put on a film, and you can sleep somewhere comfortable without worrying about anyone getting angry with you."

He looks toward my father.

The hesitation in his face makes my chest ache.

Gideon notices.

"He's staying here."

Theo flinches.

I turn toward my father, my anger returning so quickly that it almost takes my breath away.

"Look at him, Gideon."

"Do not use my first name in my own house."

"Then stop behaving like a man who doesn't understand what being a father means."

"Zara, that's enough," my mother says sharply.

I ignore her.

I hold out my hand to Theo.

"You don't have to decide anything right now, sweetheart. But if you want to come with me, you can."

His little fingers slowly reach for mine.

He takes my hand.

And that is all the answer I need.

I straighten and face my father.

"I'm taking him for the night. He's frightened, he's upset, and he needs a break from all of this."

"You are not taking him anywhere without my permission."

I hold his gaze.

"Then give me permission."

His mouth tightens.

For several long seconds, neither of us moves.

Finally, Gideon looks toward Theo, then back at me.

"One night. He comes back tomorrow."

I nod.

"Fine. I'll bring him back tomorrow."

I don't thank him.

I won't give him the satisfaction of believing he's done me a favour by allowing me to comfort a child who should never have been made to feel unwanted in the first place.

I help Theo down from his chair and kneel to straighten his little shirt.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get your jacket."

He looks up at me, his expression still uncertain.

"Will you come back for me?"

The question nearly destroys me.

I cup his cheek gently.

"Always, Theo. I promise I'll come back for you."

He wraps his arms around my neck, and I hold him close for a moment before helping him into his jacket.

When I stand, Damon is waiting beside me.

He doesn't rush me. He doesn't question my decision. He simply offers Theo his free hand, allowing the little boy to choose whether to take it.

Theo studies him for a second before reaching out.

Damon closes his fingers gently around Theo's small hand.

Something shifts in Damon's expression, so briefly that I almost miss it.

Then he looks at me.

"Ready, Little Dove?"

I nod.

We leave the dining room together, Theo holding my hand while Damon walks beside us.

Behind us, my family remains silent.

For once, Gideon Devereaux has no final word.

And as the front doors close behind us, I realize something that should have been obvious years ago.

My father has spent his entire life making sure everyone knows he is the most powerful man in every room.

Tonight, he discovered that there is one man he cannot control.

My husband.

And if Damon Veyron has decided to stand between me and my family, I have a feeling my father is about to learn just how dangerous that decision can be.