Chapter Two — Dinner Rules
The dining room was a museum.
Polished mahogany table. Crystal glasses that rang if you breathed wrong. A chandelier that looked like it cost more than Ava's old apartment. She sat across from Julian. Her mother to her left. Victor Hart at the head of the table, carving roast duck like it was a boardroom negotiation.
"So, Ava," Victor said, voice smooth as scotch. "Any plans for university?"
Ava looked up from her untouched wine glass. "Not yet."
Julian didn't lift his gaze from his plate. But she felt him listening.
"No direction?" Victor asked. "It's unusual not to have a plan at your age."
Ava smiled without warmth. "Is it? I thought it was called a gap year. Pretty common."
Victor's expression didn't falter, but his eyes sharpened. "Gap years lead to gaps in ambition."
"Victor," Julia warned gently.
Julian finally spoke. "Some people need time to breathe before they drown in what their parents want."
The room went still. Ava blinked.
Victor gave Julian a smile with no kindness in it. "And some people need to stop pretending their rebellion makes them wise."
A long pause. Ava's fork touched her plate. "Can I be excused?"
"No," Victor said, just as Julian stood up.
"She's done," Julian said.
Victor's jaw twitched. Ava stood anyway and left the room. Seconds later, footsteps followed.
She reached the hall.
"You didn't have to defend me," she said without turning.
Julian's voice was low. "I didn't do it for you."
She turned. He was too close. Shadows from the hallway light cut across his cheekbone.
"I did it," he added, stepping closer, "because he always tests the weakest spot."
"You think I'm weak?"
"I think he thinks you are." A pause. "He's wrong."
Ava didn't breathe as Julian leaned in—not enough to kiss her. Just enough that she could feel the heat of him.
Then he stepped back.
And walked away.