Page 61 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

He looks like he wants to self-eject from the room, but he puts the goblet to his lips like he means to take a sip.

“ Charlie ,” our mom snaps, her eyes piercing him. “Drink that wine, and I will be rushing you to the hospital to dislodge glass from your lungs.”

“Counterargument. You let me bleed out here. Mercifully.”

“Counterargument,” Mom says. “Fuck no.”

Beckett pours a new glass of wine in his own empty goblet. He’s sitting far enough away from Charlie that he passes the drink down the table. When it reaches Charlie, he willingly abandons his old glass for Beckett’s.

“Death but struck the night twice,” Eliot exclaims ominously.

Mom narrows her yellow-green eyes. “ No one is dying tonight or tomorrow or ever .” She points a matte black painted nail around at us. “You all shall live for centuries.”

“In mind and spirit,” Dad clarifies. “For the world will forever know your names alongside ours.”

“In body,” Mom argues with him. “For I’ll make sure they are all immortal.”

We drum the table together, except Tom who’s still standing on his chair. He taps it with his boot.

Dad’s grin widens. “I see the hunt for the Fountain of Youth persists.”

“It never ended.” She stakes him with a glare. “Would you stop me, Richard?”

He smooths his hair back, then lifts his wine. “Jamais.” Never. “Il n'y a qu'ensemble.” There is only together. I swear he glances at me at this, then raises his drink to Tom. “Mon fils.”

Mom also hoists her wine to him. “Gremlin. Proceed.”

Tom nods a thanks before surveying us around the table. “What constitutes betrayal in this family? Say, is it sleeping with the enemy?” His brows crane at me .

Can’t lie. I’m shocked. They’ve been quick to be nice to me like one false step will have me fleeing these dinners. This feels surprisingly more in fashion for my family.

I scoot forward. “Is this rhetorical?” I ask Tom.

“Nay.” He points his scepter at me. “Speak true.”

“I’d like you to clarify whether Harriet Fisher is an enemy of this family or an enemy of yours . And if she is your enemy, then why were you standing next to her at a bar last week?”

Everyone drums the table again.

Tom fights a smile, enjoying seeing me engage in this playful display. “I suffer through her presence for you, Ben Pirrip.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “And I haven’t slept with your enemy.”

Eliot clears his throat as he pours more wine. I snap a hard look at him. He has a diabolical smile as he tells me, “I said nothing, brother.”

“You’re implying I’m lying.”

“No, I simply felt a tickle in my throat.” He slouches back in his chair.

“Eliot Alice,” Mom chides. “Act your age or the Fountain of Youth will be dry before it reaches you.”

“Did you hear that?” Eliot asks our dad. “Mom is wishing death upon me.”

“If you want saved from her hyperboles, you’ll need to leave the room,” Dad says while eyeing me. “Are you dating Harriet?”

Mom’s neck nearly snaps when she zeroes in on me. “You have a girlfriend, and we haven’t met her?”

“Oh my fucking God,” I mutter.

“You’d fare better cursing to me,” Dad says, which we’ve all heard before. None of us are religious, clearly.

“Oh my Connor, does Ben have a girlfriend?” Tom teases, still standing on the fucking chair.

“You’re really wasting your whole opening on me?” I ask him.

“Dude, Mom is going to stab the goose if you don’t answer her. You should be happy I’m still focused on you.”

Our mom is gripping a knife. “When was this official? Did you not want us to know? Is it a secret?”

I wonder if the tension at the start of dinner was more about my relationship with Harriet. It eases me. I’d love for this to solely be about me and her.

“Harriet and I are basically…” I lift my shoulders, unsure of what to call someone you’re falling for. “We’re figuring things out. She’s my closest friend, and she’s extremely busy being pre-med, so that’s a big reason why you haven’t met her yet.”

“Have you taken her on a date, Pippy?” Jane wonders with a smile, resting her chin on her knuckles. “Where to?”

“Oui! Tell us absolutely everything.” Audrey draws her chair closer to mine. “What were you wearing? What did you eat?” Audrey gasps in excitement. “What did she smell like?”

“Please no,” Charlie pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I bet she was lovely,” Audrey swoons. “Ben would only date girls who smell absolutely divine. ”

“Would he?” Charlie retorts, his hand clattering to the table. “On the basis of what?”

“On the basis of…of…” She spins to Jane for help.

“On the basis of Ben having a terrific sense of smell,” Jane says pointedly and arches a brow, much like our father, at Charlie. “Which you can’t refute.”

“Which I’m not in the mood to,” Charlie combats sourly.

“This has really derailed from the point,” Dad says, then shifts his gaze to me. “Your mom and I look forward to meeting her.”

I nod slowly, my brain starting to spin around my plan. The roadblocks to these future paths.

“Final word,” Tom decrees to me. “Although you’re not sleeping with my enemy yet… ”

My brows jut up at his pregnant pause. “Would you like me to air who you’re sleeping with during my opening?”

His smile is ginormous. “Ben Pirrip with the revenge plot.”

“The twist of the hour,” Eliot chimes in.

I cover my face in my hands and groan.

“Aim elsewhere,” Mom snaps at Tom.

“Fragile baby Ben,” Charlie notes.

I flip him off, coming out from my palms and sinking back in my chair.

“Charlie,” Dad says in a disappointed scold which always feels worse than Mom’s sharp reprimands.

“He’s fine,” I cut in, not wanting more tension at the table because of me. Then I nod Tom on. “Go ahead.”

Tom smiles softer at me. “I will not consider you being with Harry a betrayal, but rather a very blonde, very short, very great annoyance. Because I love you, brother.”

My lips begin to rise, and the rumble of feet around us makes my smile grow astronomically higher.

The lively noise floods me. Fills me. Audrey even taps her spoon to the glass goblet.

My bones thunder. My lungs expand. It’s hard not to be swept up in the infectious energy, especially when it’s for me.

“Merci infiniment,” I say. “Je t'aime aussi, mon frère.” Thank you infinitely. I love you too, my brother.

Tom’s smile twinkles his eyes. “But if she hurts you, she’s dead to me.” That is his final word, and he drops down into the chair.

Charlie lazily holds up a couple of fingers. “I invoke my right to pass,” he says the same words he’s used for almost every Wednesday night of his life.

Jane rises to her feet without standing on the chair or table.

Embroidered lobsters are stitched into her lilac dress.

The eccentric outfits have been her standard this month.

“You’re all cordially invited to Maeve’s first birthday.

The party is being held at The Independent.

” She names the billiards bar she owns in Philly.

“If you’d like to bring plus-ones, you’ll have to run it through Thatcher.

” He’s in a high position in security, and I’m sure he’ll want to vet whoever attends.

“We’d prefer no strangers or anyone you do not know particularly well. ”

Beckett frowns a little. “Has there been any security issues recently?” He eyes Jane. “Do you have a stalker?”

“No.” She’s tense though.

My brothers and I are staring Thatcher down for the truth since Jane will try her best not to worry us.

“No stalkers,” Thatcher confirms, then looks to our dad.

From the head of the table, he informs us, “Rochester Industries is finalizing their acquisition of Celebrity Crush .”

Eliot grimaces. “The enemy of the family has been named.”

I’m so far removed from the Rochester drama. It’s beyond me, really, but I’m well aware that this affluent, assholish family has taken vested interest in us because they own a media conglomerate. And we’re a source of content. Meaning, we line their pockets every time they talk shit about us.

It doesn’t help that A.) the Rochesters are from the same area of Philadelphia. We grew up with those pricks. And B.) they’re about to own the most popular tabloid in the country.

“They might take unethical measures to gain headlines,” our dad cautions. “Just be wary who you talk to and bring around the family.”

Noted.

Jane returns to her seat, and Thatcher says, “I’m good to pass.” He’s the silent, brooding type and rarely likes to take the spotlight, even when offered. He’d prefer to watch Jane in it, I’m sure.

“Will you bring Harriet?” Audrey whispers to me. “To Maeve’s birthday?”

That’s November 15 th .

I won’t be here. My muscles flex. “Maybe,” I whisper back.

“I’ll go next.” Beckett’s calm voice seizes our attention. He stabs a green bean with his fork and stares at his plate for a long, contemplative moment before his eyes lift to meet mine. “Ben.”

The way he says my name—with so much comfort and care like he could cradle those three letters for a lifetime. I’d let him. Flashes of last week cycle in my head.

The kitchen.

His arms.

My chest tightens and stomach sinks at the quick visual. I hate how one dark memory can slam to the front of my brain without warning. Without care. It feels like a violation because I didn’t ask to remember it in this gentle moment.

Beckett takes a steadying breath before he tells me, “I want to be here next Wednesday and the Wednesday after that. There’s not a moment I don’t want to be here, but it’s going to be impossible.”

I nod, understanding, even if my chest feels like someone dropped three fifty-pound weight plates on my sternum. He directs this to me because it’s not a fucking secret he’s been coming here for me.

He continues, “NYBC’s Opening Gala is next Friday, and I’m dancing the White Swan pas de deux. I can’t miss rehearsals next week to come down here.”

“I get it,” I say into a stronger nod. The heat of everyone’s gazes is stifling. “I don’t want you to miss ballet, Beck. I never have.”