Becoming Mrs.Terry

Chapter 13: Dinner and Distractions

The grand dining room sparkled with warm light. For the first time in days, the long table wasn’t filled with awkward silences or cold stares. Tonight, there was music playing softly from the speakers, a roast chicken placed neatly in the center, and a bottle of wine breathing on the side.

Tinah had decided to cook.

She didn’t know why exactly—maybe it was to distract herself, maybe it was to break the tension left by Emily Linda’s unexpected message, or maybe it was her way of extending a peace offering.

Rowland walked in, stopping in the doorway. His brow lifted. “You cooked?”

She glanced over her shoulder, wiping her hands on a cloth. “It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “I was more worried about taste.”

“Sit down and shut up,” she muttered, hiding a smile.

Dinner began with quiet chewing and clinking forks. But gradually, conversation crept in.

“You know,” Rowland began, “I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me without expecting something in return.”

Tinah paused. “I didn’t do it for anything. I just… wanted to.”

He studied her. “You surprise me, Tinah.”

“That’s because you never expected much from me.”

He nodded. “I didn’t. But I’m learning you’re not what I thought.”

“And what did you think I was?” she challenged, setting her fork down.

“A woman chasing wealth. A pretty face in need of a name.”

She raised a brow. “And now?”

“Now I see a woman who’s more than all that. Bold, complicated… and real.”

For a moment, their eyes locked.

Tinah looked away first, standing to gather the plates. “I’m still not falling in love with you, Rowland.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said quietly, “but I think I might be falling for you anyway.”

She froze, her back to him. Her heart raced, her fingers tightening around the plate.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” she whispered.

“I mean it. And that’s the scariest part.”

That night, she couldn’t sleep.

Rowland’s words circled her mind like a song stuck on repeat. She had been trying so hard not to feel anything. She told herself again and again it was just a contract. Just temporary. Just survival.

But how do you stop your heart from opening when someone finally sees you?

And worse—what happens if they walk away just when you begin to hope?

Outside, a storm rumbled. But inside her chest, one had already begun.