Page 2 of The Marriage Compromise

That earned him a genuine smile. Grandpa had been the only one who'd supported my decision to go to college instead of joining my father at his company like my older brother had.

As the waiter brought our appetizers, I noticed a man at a nearby table. Well-dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my semester's tuition, with slick black hair and calculating eyes that kept drifting to our table.

Each time I caught him looking, he'd smile slightly before returning to his phone.

Creepy.

"Do you know that guy?" I asked my mother, nodding discreetly toward the man.

Her eyes widened briefly before she composed herself. "What guy, darling?"

The well-dressed man in question chose that moment to stand and make a call, his back to us now.

"Never mind," I muttered, stabbing at my salad. Something felt off. More off than usual for a Matthews’ family gathering, which was saying something.

Dinner progressed with increasingly bizarre attempts at conversation from my parents. My mother asked about my friends. My father wondered if I needed money for books—a first in recorded history.

I felt like I'd stepped into an alternate universe where my family actually cared about my existence beyond what it could do for them. Maybe they were terminally ill, or they've joined a cult, or they're setting me up to donate a kidney.

That last thought wasn't as far-fetched as it should have been.

Throughout the meal, I kept noticing the businessman glancing our way. Each look made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

My mother seemed increasingly anxious as the dinner progressed, checking her watch and exchanging looks with my father.

When dessert arrived—some fancy chocolate thing that probably cost thirty dollars—my mother suddenly raised her champagne flute. "I think we should toast," she announced.

My father nodded too enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, a toast!"

The waiter appeared, as if on cue, with another flute of champagne, placing it in front of me. I frowned, noticing a strange cloudiness to the liquid that the other glasses didn't have.

"I don't really drink," I reminded them. Alcohol and working two jobs while taking classes didn't mix well.

"It's a special occasion," my mother insisted, her voice taking on that edge I knew better than to argue with. "A celebration of family."

"What exactly are we celebrating?" I asked, not touching the glass.

"Just drink it, Connor," my father said, his jovial mask slipping for a moment.

My grandfather looked confused, glancing between my parents with furrowed brows. "Margaret, what's going on?"

My mother's smile tightened. "Nothing, Dad, just a family toast." She turned to me, eyes hard despite her smile. "Drink up, Connor. Don't be difficult."

I looked down at the cloudy champagne, then at the businessman who was now openly watching our table, a small smile playing on his lips.

Something was very wrong here.

"You know," I said, my hand hovering near but not touching the suspicious flute, "I'm actually feeling a little under the weather. Maybe we should do this another time."

My mother's fingers wrapped around my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Don't be silly. One drink won't kill you."

No, but whatever you put in it might.

The businessman stood, straightening his tie as he began to approach our table.

I took a reluctant sip of the champagne, mostly to stop my mother's talons from drawing blood where she gripped my wrist. The liquid burned going down, with a strange bitter aftertaste that definitely wasn't part of the usual champagne experience.

Not that I'd had much champagne in my life, but even I knew it shouldn't taste like someone had crushed up pills and mixedthem in. My tongue felt numb almost immediately, and alarm bells started clanging in my head.