Family dinner is code for performance.
I dress like I’m going to war, not because anyone asked me to, but because experience has taught me what happens when I don’t. Neutral colors. Nothing too soft. Nothing too sharp. I want to look like a woman who belongs here. Whatever here means.
Ethan watches me from the doorway while I put on my earrings.
“You don’t have to overthink it,” he says.
I smile at the mirror. “I’m not.”
It’s a lie. We both know it. He doesn’t push.
The drive there is quiet. Not tense. Worse. Polite. Like we’ve both agreed to put whatever cracked between us back into its box for a few hours.
His mother’s house is already loud when we arrive. Voices. Laughter. The clink of glasses. Everything warm and welcoming in a way that feels slightly rehearsed.
“Solene,” his m
