Page 24

I sank back into my chair as the applause rippled through the dining room, my heart hammering so hard I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. A strange buzzing filled my ears, like I was underwater. Had I really just done that? Had I actually stood up to Stephany and Roger in front of everyone?

The weight of the charm in my pocket seemed to grow heavier, like it was sending waves of warmth up through my dress. I snuck a glance at Aldaine beside me. His profile was sharp and focused, jaw tense, but something in his eyes, maybe pride? Surprise? I couldn't tell.

Rita winked at me from across the table, and for a moment, the dining room felt like an alternate reality where I wasn't the family disappointment. Where I was someone who deserved to be applauded.

The sensation was foreign but not unwelcome.

But as the applause died down, reality crashed back. Whispers immediately erupted around the table .

A server hurried forward to clean up the shattered glass beside Aldaine's plate. I noticed how carefully he avoided touching Aldaine's hand as he mopped up the water, eyes darting nervously to his face and away again.

My momentary triumph curdled in my stomach. I'd stood up for myself, yes, but at what cost? Now everyone was whispering about my "boyfriend" like he was some kind of monster. And wasn't that exactly what I'd been trying to avoid? Drawing attention to us, making people suspicious?

I touched the charm in my pocket again. What was I even doing here? Playing pretend with a demon who kept yanking me close and pushing me away, who left magical gifts at my door but couldn't explain why he'd abandoned me last night when I'd needed him most.

A fork clinked sharply against crystal, drawing everyone's attention. Stephany had stood up, her posture rigid, face composed into a mask of wounded dignity.

"Well," her voice carrying perfectly, "I suppose we've all been treated to quite the performance this morning."

Her eyes locked on me, cold and calculating. I knew that look. It was the same one she'd worn right before telling everyone at junior prom that I'd stuffed my bra with toilet paper.

My stomach dropped.

"I've always admired your ability to make yourself the center of attention, Rosie," Stephany continued, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

"Even at my engagement breakfast." She placed a delicate hand over her heart.

"I invited you here as family, despite our complicated history.

I wanted to make amends. To show everyone that I held no grudges. "

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood. This was Stephany's special talent, twisting the knife while making herself look like the victim.

"But I see now that was naive of me." Her bottom lip trembled perfectly. "Because some people can't let go of the past. Some people will always be bitter, always need to create drama."

Roger reached up to squeeze her hand, his face a mask of concern. The bruises on his neck stood out, dark purple against his skin.

"See?" Stephany's voice cracked with what anyone who didn't know her would think was genuine emotion. "She always ruins everything. Always has to make it about herself. She's nothing but a mistake."

The words struck like physical blows. Mistake. How many times had I heard that word whispered about me in this house? Always when they thought I couldn't hear, but always loud enough that I did.

Something hot and painful lodged in my throat. I'd spent my entire life believing it, arranging myself smaller and smaller, apologizing for taking up space that wasn't meant for me.

I felt Aldaine tense beside me, felt the air around him seem to crackle with barely contained energy. His fingertips, resting on the table edge, had darkened to that strange magenta hue I'd glimpsed last night.

Before he could move, before I could process what was happening, a new sound cut through the tension – the crisp, deliberate fold of newspaper.

My father, seated at the head of the table, slowly lowered the Wall Street Journal he'd been hiding behind. His face was unreadable as he placed it precisely next to his plate, smoothing it with one hand.

Dad never got involved in "women's drama," as he called it. He was the perpetual neutral party, the Switzerland of family conflict. It was easier that way. Safer.

But now he was standing up, his chair scraping across the hardwood floor. His movements were stiff, deliberate, as if each one required extraordinary focus.

I held my breath. Everyone did.

"Enough, Stephany," Dad practically growled, and I almost didn't recognize his voice. It wasn't the distracted mumble he usually employed during family disagreements, nor the placating tone he used when trying to smooth things over. It was clear. Firm. Unshakable.

"That's my daughter you're talking about." The words rang out in the silence, and I felt them reverberate through my chest like a physical touch. "And for far too long, I let this family treat her like she didn't belong."

My mouth fell open. Was this really happening? Was my father–of all people–actually defending me? I loved him to death but he was never one for confrontation.

"I was wrong," he continued, his voice growing stronger with each word. "I should have defended her years ago. I'm defending her now."

The dining room went so quiet I could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. My chest felt too tight, like I'd forgotten how to breathe.

Jan sat frozen beside him, her face a mask of shock. In all the years since she'd married my father, I'd never once heard him contradict her or Stephany. Not once.

I waited for the explosion. For Jan to stand up and remind everyone who really ran this household. For the carefully cultivated facade of family harmony to shatter completely.

But instead, Jan's face underwent a complex series of expressions - surprise, anger, calculation, and finally, something that looked almost like shame?

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. And then, to my absolute astonishment, she nodded. Slightly. Almost imperceptibly. But a nod nonetheless.

"Rosie's right," the words seemed physically difficult for Jan to form. "We all failed her. And we won't do it again."

The world tilted on its axis. I gripped the edge of the table, certain I must be hallucinating. Jan had never, not once in all the years I'd known her, admitted to being wrong about anything. And now she was acknowledging she'd failed me?

Across the table, Stephany's face contorted with shock and betrayal, color draining from her cheeks. "Mom?" The word came out small, uncertain, a child's voice.

Jan didn't look at her. Instead, her eyes found mine, and for the first time since I was thirteen years old, I saw her clearly, not as the villain in my story, but as a woman who had made choices, some of them terrible. A woman capable of recognizing, even belatedly, those mistakes.

Roger cleared his throat, his laugh too loud, too forced. "Come on, everyone. This is getting a little heavy for breakfast, don't you think? It's just some old high school drama." He slung an arm around Stephany's rigid shoulders. "Water under the bridge, right babe?"

No one laughed with him. The elderly aunts were whispering furiously to each other. Rita was grinning openly. One of the bridesmaids was staring at Roger with unconcealed disgust.

"I think," my father said, still in that unfamiliar, authoritative voice, "that we've all had enough for this morning. Stephany, Roger, perhaps you should take some time to compose yourselves."

It was a dismissal. From my father. To Stephany.

I couldn't process what was happening. My entire worldview was rearranging itself, tectonic plates shifting beneath my feet. For so long I'd seen myself through their eyes as unwanted, inconvenient, not quite good enough. But now?

I became aware of a warm weight covering my hand. Aldaine had placed his palm over mine where it clutched the table edge. The touch anchored me, drew me back into my body. My fingers were tingling from gripping the table so hard.

"Breathe," he murmured, so softly only I could hear.

I drew in a shuddering breath, only then realizing I'd been holding it. The oxygen made me dizzy.

Stephany recovered first, yanking herself free of Roger's arm. "Fine," she hissed, her face twisted with genuine fury now. "If that's how you want to play it, fine. But don't think for a second this changes anything."

She directed the last part at me, naked hatred in her eyes. It should have frightened me, but instead, I felt oddly calm. Whatever power Stephany had held over me, the power to make me feel small, to make me doubt myself, seemed to have evaporated in the sun of my father's unexpected defense.

She turned on her heel and stalked from the room, Roger scrambling after her like an oversized, confused puppy.

In their wake, the tension in the dining room broke. Conversations resumed, though in hushed, excited tones. I caught fragments:

"—never seen Denis stand up to any of them?—"

"—about time someone called out that Roger fellow?—"

"—going to be a very interesting wedding?—"

My father remained standing for a moment longer, looking oddly lost now that the confrontation was over. Then he picked up his newspaper, tucked it under his arm, and walked around the table toward me.

Everyone watched, barely pretending not to. When he reached my chair, he paused, looking down at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Rosie," he seemed at a loss for words.

Instead of speaking, he placed his hand briefly, awkwardly, on my shoulder. Then he nodded once, as if confirming something to himself, and continued out of the dining room.

Jan followed him, pausing as she passed my chair. "We should talk. Later."

I could only nod, still too stunned to form words.

As they left, I became aware of Aldaine's hand still covering mine, warm and solid. The weight of it drew my attention back to him. His eyes, when I met them, were dark and intent, studying my face with such focus I felt my cheeks heat.

"Are you alright?" His voice pitched for my ears alone.

Was I? I had no idea. It felt like I'd walked through a door into a different reality, one where my father defended me and Jan admitted wrongdoing and Stephany didn't always win.

"I don't know," I admitted. My voice came out hoarse, as if I'd been screaming instead of sitting in shocked silence.

The charm in my pocket seemed to pulse warmly against my thigh. I reached down to touch it through the fabric of my dress, finding its solid outline reassuring somehow.

"I've never seen my dad stand up to them before," I whispered. "Not once, in all these years."

Aldaine's expression softened, though something fierce still burned in the depths of his eyes. "People can surprise you."

"Yes," I agreed, looking down at where his hand still covered mine. At the strange, undeniable connection I felt to him, despite everything. "They certainly can."

A server approached, offering more coffee. I accepted gratefully, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. The normalcy of the action helped ground me.

Rita slid into the chair next to me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Well," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "that was certainly more entertaining than the usual family breakfast. Are you okay, honey?"

I nodded, still not trusting my voice completely. The reality of what had just happened was still sinking in.

I felt Aldaine shift beside me, a subtle movement that somehow communicated his intent to give Rita and me space to talk. But before he could stand, I found myself reaching out, catching his wrist.

"Stay. Please."

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. Then he nodded and settled back into his chair, his presence solid and reassuring beside me.

Whatever complicated thing existed between us, whatever had made him pull away last night, I'd sort it out later. Right now, in this strange new reality where my father had stood up for me, where Jan had acknowledged her failings, I needed him near.

I needed to believe, just for this moment, that impossible things could happen.