Dinner was a masterclass in psychological warfare.
Robert and Elena sat at the heads of the table, oblivious and happy, passing dishes of roasted potatoes and green beans. They asked Julian standard questions—where was he from, what were his career plans, did he like the city. Julian played his part perfectly, charming the parents with anecdotes about architecture and Tesse's study habits.
Valor sat across from Tesse. He barely ate. He was drinking red wine, his glass constantly being refilled. He didn't speak to Julian. He spoke *at* him.
"So, architecture," Valor said, swirling his wine. "That takes a lot of precision. Structure. Rules."
"It does," Julian nodded.
"Tesse hates rules," Valor said, his eyes locking onto hers. "Or, she used to. She used to be the kind of person who would break a rule just to see if the world would end."
"I don't think that's true," Tesse said, cutting her steak with unnecessary force. "I'm very disciplined."
" disciplined," Valor scoffed softly. "Is that what we're calling it now? Avoidance is a form of discipline, I guess."
"Valor," Robert warned gently. "Be polite."
"I am being polite," Valor smiled tightly. "I'm just getting to know the man who managed to capture the heart of the Ice Queen."
Julian laughed nervously. "She's definitely got a guard up. But she's warm once you get to know her."
"Is she?" Valor asked. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "Tell me, Julian. Does she still sleep with a nightlight? Does she still hum when she's nervous? Does she still like red velvet cake, or has she decided she's allergic to joy again?"
Tesse dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against the china.
"Stop it," she said.
"Stop what?" Valor asked, feigning innocence. "I'm just reminiscing. We have a history, don't we, Sis? We grew up together. Sort of."
"We lived in the same house for one year," Tesse corrected him. "That is not growing up together."
"It felt like a lifetime to me," Valor murmured into his glass.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Elena looked between them, confused. "Valor, honey, why don't you tell Tesse about your internship? He's working at his father's firm this summer, Tesse. He's doing wonderfully."
"I don't want to talk about work," Valor said. He looked at Julian's hand, which was resting on Tesse's on the tablecloth. "So, Julian. How long have you been together?"
"Six months," Julian lied smoothly.
"Six months," Valor repeated. "Serious then."
"Very," Julian smiled at Tesse. "I think she's the one."
Tesse felt a chill run down her spine. It wasn't the lie; it was Valor's reaction.
Valor didn't blink. He didn't scowl. He went completely, terrifyingly still. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale and ghostly in the candlelight. He looked at Tesse with an expression of such profound betrayal and agony that she almost looked away.
It was the look of a man watching his world burn down while he was tied to a stake.
"Excuse me," Valor stood up abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor, a harsh, violent sound. "I need some air."
He walked out of the dining room without looking back. The back door slammed shut a moment later.
"Oh dear," Elena sighed. "He's been so moody lately. Final exams must have been hard on him."
Tesse stared at the empty chair. She knew it wasn't exams. It was her. It had always been her.
***
Later that night, the house was quiet. Julian was asleep in the guest room. Elena and Robert had retired.
Tesse couldn't sleep. She went downstairs to get water. The kitchen was dark, lit only by the under-cabinet lighting.
She turned the corner and gasped.
Valor was there.
He was sitting at the kitchen island, a bottle of amber liquid in front of him. He wasn't drinking it; he was just staring at the glass. He had taken off his sweater, wearing only a white t-shirt that clung to his frame.
"You're up," he said, not turning around.
"I was thirsty," Tesse said, hovering in the doorway. "I can come back."
"Don't run away," Valor said. His voice was exhausted. "You're always running away, Tesse. It's exhausting just watching you."
He turned on the stool to face her. In the dim light, he looked wrecked.
"Is it true?" he asked.
"Is what true?"
"Him. The architect. Is he really the one?"
Tesse gripped her glass of water. She should say yes. She should drive the stake in deeper, finish the job, make him hate her so he could finally move on.
But looking at him—at the boy she had loved, the man he had become—she couldn't do it.
"He makes me happy," she equivocated.
"Happy," Valor scoffed. "He doesn't know you, Tesse. I watched him at dinner. He looks at you like you're a trophy. He doesn't know what you look like when you cry. He doesn't know that you're terrified of thunderstorms. He doesn't know *you*."
"And you do?" Tesse challenged, stepping into the room. "You think because we spent a year ignoring each other in high school that you know me?"
"I know you," Valor said softly. He stood up. He walked toward her. He didn't sway this time. He was sober. "I know you because for two years, you are the only thing I have thought about. Every day. Every single day, Tesse. I wake up and I wonder what you're doing. I go to sleep and I wonder if you're happy."
He stopped two feet away from her. The air between them crackled with static.
"Why did you leave?" he whispered. "Why did you cut me off? Was I that bad a brother?"
"You aren't my brother!" Tesse snapped. The words tore out of her throat. "Stop calling yourself that! It makes it worse!"
Valor froze. "Makes what worse?"
Tesse realized she had said too much. She backed up, hitting the counter. "Nothing. I'm going to bed."
"No," Valor said, stepping closer, boxing her in. "Tell me. Why does it make it worse?"
"Because," Tesse breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Because brothers don't look at their sisters the way you look at me, Valor. Brothers don't get jealous of boyfriends. Brothers don't drink themselves into oblivion because their sister came home."
Valor stared at her. His eyes searched her face, looking for a sign, a permission.
"I'm not your brother," he said hoarsely. "I never was. You know that. I know that."
"The world doesn't know that," Tesse whispered. "Our parents don't know that."
"Screw the world," Valor said. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face, trembling slightly. "Tesse, tell me to stop. Tell me you don't feel this. Tell me that when you look at me, you feel nothing. If you say it, I'll believe you. I'll back off. I'll never speak to you again."
Tesse looked at him. She looked at his lips. She remembered the taste of tequila and salt. She remembered the weight of his body. She wanted to lean in. She wanted to bridge the gap and burn the house down with him.
But she couldn't.
"I feel nothing," she lied. Her voice broke on the last word.
Valor flinched as if she had slapped him. He dropped his hand. The light in his eyes died, replaced by a dull, aching void.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay."
He stepped back. He turned around and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tesse alone in the dark, clutching her glass of water, shaking so hard she thought she might shatter.
***