His eyes narrow at me, just briefly. With the slightest bob of his head, I realize he’s communicating with me. Asking if I’m okay.
My smile grows a little brighter. Of course I’m okay.
There’s a slight tilt to his head as he studies me. He doesn’t look convinced.
My eyes widen until I know they’ll look a hint deranged. Play the fuck along, unless you want a tour of the batch ovens.
“I have to thank my brother, really,” Lachlan pipes up. “If it wasn’t for his wedding and all the preparation that went into it behind the scenes, I don’t think Lark and I would have spared each other the time.”
At least his lie is pretty convincing, because we sure as hell didn’t spare each other a single fucking second. Every time Lachlan was suggested as a companion for a run to the florist or the venue, I made every excuse possible to take someone else or do it solo. I’m sure the same was true for Lachlan, though I made a point of never asking about him, even though I remember every detail that fell into my lap. I can still recall the satisfaction I felt but pushed away when Rowan said Lachlan wasn’t bringing a plus-one to the wedding. I don’t analyze that thought.
My aunt jumps on the mention of the wedding to redirect the conversation to Rowan and Sloane’s nuptials, and I finally feel like I can take a breath. When questions come back around to Lachlan, he handles them with ease. Questions about his studio. About Ireland. About his parents, which has him shifting in his seat. He calls his father “a troubled man” and focuses on his mother instead. I know most of this from Sloane and Rowan, at least at a surface level. It’s different to not just hear it from Lachlan, but to see it in him. The haunted depths in his eyes where secrets thrive in shadow. His smile when he speaks about his brothers with pride that was earned by the pain he must have endured to raise them when his mother passed away. Every once in a while, Lachlan catches my eye as he talks, especially about the harder topics. He leaves the details unspoken, but I can hear them, the ghost notes in a melody.
And by the time we’ve finished the main course, I’m a little more at ease. Not just with myself, or because I know my family is at least trying to make sense of this situation, but with Lachlan too. When Ava clears our plates and returns with coffee and dessert, I feel calmer. We may not be in the clear yet, but we’re on our way.
Which is, naturally, exactly when Ethel chooses to strike.
“Now that you’ve harassed the poor boy with your inane questions, why don’t we address the elephant in the room? The contract with Leviathan.”
My stepfather wipes a hand down his face. My sister chokes on her coffee. My mother tries to chastise Ethel, which seems to delight the old matriarch. I groan and lean back in my chair as a headache needles my sleepless eyes. And Lachlan? He looks like he wants to melt into some other dimension, which brings me a single sliver of joy to realize I’m sitting across from a deadly assassin who’s out of his depth with family drama.
“There is no contract,” my parents say in unison.
Ethel grins. “There will be for the Montagues.”
“I haven’t signed anything,” my mother declares.
“That’s because I haven’t given you the power to do so. Nor will I. I’ve appointed Lark as chief security officer.” Ethel takes a thick envelope from her purse and slides it across the table toward me. My face heats and the rest of the family stares me down as though I’ve orchestrated a coup. I throw my hands up and shake my head, which seems convincing enough as they all refocus on Ethel.
“Conflict of interest. She can’t hire the company her husband is working for.”
My aunt snorts. “‘Conflict of interest’ my wrinkled old ass. We’re not doctors or lawyers. We make muffins, Nina. Since when have we cared about a conflict of interest?”
“Since now. She cannot hire Leviathan.”
“Lachlan is retiring. Problem solved,” I interject. Everyone is as shocked as I am. I don’t know where this is coming from, but holy fuck, it’s too late to stop now. “Thank you, Auntie. I hope to make you all proud. I’ll award Leviathan the contract, this family will be protected, Lachlan will retire, everyone will be happy.”
“No one will be happy,” my sister says.
“I’m happy,” Ethel protests.
“You’re dying and half-crazy. No offense.”
“I’m dying and perfectly sane. Certified by three doctors and my lawyer,” my aunt says as she slaps another stack of papers onto the table. “Ironclad, by the way. Just in case you try to overturn my decision.”
“Great. Then it’s settled.” I smile at each one of my family members, leaving Lachlan for last. His face looks like I imagine it would if he were stalking his prey from a distance. It’s like he’s shut off every part of himself so that only instinct and skill remain.
My mother’s gaze bounds from one person to the next before it lands on me, her hand gripped so tightly to her napkin that her knuckles bleach. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Lark.”
“I do. I chose love,” I say, unable to bear the weight of a lie about something so precious. “We are married. This is the life I chose. He is the man I chose.”
“He is a killer,” my mother hisses, throwing the penultimate grenade.
My heart cracks when I softly say, “Maybe we should all be transparent for once and admit that when it comes to this family, he’s not the only one.”
There’s a brief second of stark silence. I can feel the disbelief like an entity that hovers above our plates, a ghost caught between our rigid bodies as we sit unmoving in its midst.
My stepfather’s sharp inhale breaks the spell. “Lark Montague—”
“Kane, Daddy.” I set my fork down and cross my hands in my lap. Everyone else is still suspended, trapped in time, Lachlan included. Even Ethel doesn’t move, her face frozen in a moment of repressed and scheming glee. “Lark Kane. I’ll keep Montague for the stage, for now. But I’ve already started changing it everywhere else. Got my new driver’s license on Friday, actually.”
I toss the plastic card down on the table. The final bomb.
A sheen coats my mother’s eyes, but she blinks it back before straightening her spine like she does when she’s pissed and preparing for battle. “Well. That’s just—”
“That’s just lovely, dear,” Ethel says, and gives me a demure smile that fades into melancholia. My chest aches when she studies me. “You’ve always been a feather in the wind, my Meadowlark. You deserve to be happy on your own terms. But I never wanted you to be alone. And now, you’re not.” She raises her forkful of cake to me in a toast before sliding it into her mouth. The last word, punctuated with a dark chocolate stamp.
I bury my short nails into my palms. The weight of Lachlan’s gaze lies heavy on my face, but I can’t look up. I don’t know what will happen if I do.
My stepfather takes a sip of his coffee and clears his throat, and though he forces a smile, all I see is the torn heart beneath it. “Lachlan must mean so much to you.”
His words summon a mist across my vision and an ache in my throat. I glance at Lachlan. He studies me before his attention flicks to my stepfather and back again. It’s as though he knows there’s so much more that’s been left unspoken, but he can’t see his way through the fog.
“Of course he does, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. “I wouldn’t have married him otherwise. He is a good man. And you’ll see it too, in time.”
“I am …” My mom glances toward my stepdad, who gives her a warning look. She starts again, “we are happy that you’ve found someone, Lark. This is just not what any of us expected.”
“You can always have another celebration here or at the beach estate, we would of course love to host it,” my stepfather says. He gives me a weak smile. “We would love that very much.”
I nod a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you. We’ll think about that when things settle down a little bit.” I can’t look at them, so I look everywhere else. My watch. The half-eaten dessert. My empty coffee cup. Finally, I catch Lachlan’s eyes and take a breath. “We have to get going, I’m sorry. We need to take Auntie Ethel back and then I’ve got rehearsal.” I don’t take my eyes from Lachlan as I shift in my chair. He’s faster than me, fluid and graceful as he comes to my side of the table and pulls back my chair. “Thank you for brunch. I’m sorry it went a little sideways, but just know that I love you.”
I give my mother and sister swift kisses to their cheeks before my stepfather leads us to the door. His embrace is long and tight. His familiar smell is both a comfort and a burning ache in my chest. My eyes sting when he kisses the crown of my head. “You look tired, Meadowlark,” he whispers. “Try to get some rest.”
I squeeze a little tighter before I let him go and step back. Lachlan is there with a hand extended, and after a brief hesitation, my stepfather takes it.
“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, Mr. Covaci,” Lachlan says. He lets the handshake go so he can interlace his fingers with mine. “And I know there’s more going on than what we discussed today. But my word is worth my life. I made a vow to Lark. I will protect my wife.”
An electric charge hits my heart. This isn’t real, I remind myself. But the way Lachlan looks at me, really looks at me, I believe him. I might be his wife on paper only, but I know what he’s trying to tell me in a simple glance. He will keep his word.
“I’m counting on it,” my stepfather says. And with a final, melancholy smile shared between us, we leave.
We walk in silence to the car, Lachlan escorting my aunt, who seems to move slower now after so much excitement. But he doesn’t release my hand either. He keeps hold of it even when we can’t be seen from the house. He doesn’t let go until I get into the rear seat, and even then I sense a momentary reluctance. A reluctance that, for some reason, I share.
It’s just camaraderie, I try to remind myself when the moment passes and he pushes the seat back before helping Ethel settle into the passenger side. And then we’re off, my heart still beating too fast in my chest.
“I don’t know the first thing about being chief of security, Ethel,” I say when the house is out of view, as though they might be able to hear us.
“I know you don’t. That’s why you outsource.”
“We didn’t secure anything about the Covaci contract. Dad’s not going to sign shit. I have no influence there.” My sigh is unsteady. I press my fingers to my eyes, and when I open them once more, I catch Lachlan’s uneasy gaze in the rearview. “I’m sorry. I promised you both contracts, and I’ll get it done.”
Lachlan turns enough to give me a brief glance. “I know, Lark. It’s all right.”
“We’ll find a work-around,” my aunt says.
“Do you think we convinced them?” I ask as my aunt turns to cast her smoky stare at me. “Do you think they believe we’re in love?”
“You didn’t need to convince them. You needed to give them enough doubt to stop them from acting. I’m sure they’ll send someone to keep tabs on you both over the next while, so if you want to go necking in public it wouldn’t be the worst idea—”
“Auntie,” I hiss, but she merely laughs at the embarrassment in my tone. Lachlan chuckles and I catch his eyes in the mirror. I know he can probably see my deep blush, the heat of it burning in my cheeks. “‘Necking’? Seriously?”
“What? I’m old.” When I let loose a heavy sigh, the levity slowly evaporates in the car and Ethel reaches toward me to take my hand. “Don’t worry, my girl. Sure, they will likely have lingering doubts. We presented them with a difficult situation to accept. But as for giving your parents enough reason to rethink any plans they might have been brewing to go up against Mr. Kane?” Ethel lets go of my hand to give Lachlan’s leather-clad sleeve an affectionate pat. “I’m quite sure you did that. The license was very clever, Lark.”
I blow out a long breath and look out the window as the familiar neighborhood slips past. I gnaw at my lower lip until I taste an iron thread of blood. “Maybe.”
“You did a good job, Meadowlark. I know it hurts now, but his heart will mend. Damian loves you dearly, always.”
“What was that about? With the license?” Lachlan asks, but I don’t reply. I don’t take my eyes from the suburban streets. Places I’ve felt lost in. Places where I’ve been found. The paths and passageways that my stepdad walked me down. The ones where he taught me how to ride a bike. The ones where he taught me how to drive. He spent the time to make this home my home. He did all the things my dad would have taught me how to do, had he lived.
“Lark never took the Covaci name,” Ethel says, her voice low and quiet. “She always said she would never leave that piece of her dad, Sam, behind. But she did it. For you.”
I can feel Lachlan watching me in the rearview. But I can’t bear to meet his gaze.
“Your wife just broke her family’s heart,” Ethel says. “And she did it to save your life.”