The sun had dipped low, casting a soft amber glow through the tall windows. The dining room shimmered in the fading light—elegant without trying too hard, just like everything in this house.
The table was already set when I walked in, guided by the mouthwatering scent of fried chicken, curry goat, and baked fish that had been teasing me since late afternoon. Renae and her dad had been in the kitchen for hours—laughing, bickering over seasoning…. Now, their masterpiece was laid out like a feast.
The long white table gleamed beneath the chandelier's golden light. Gold-rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and neatly folded blush napkins were arranged with care. A centerpiece of flickering candles and fresh greenery stretched down the middle, casting soft, dancing shadows across the polished surface. It wasn't Christmas. It wasn't a birthday. It was just… dinner. But somehow, it felt like more.
Renae pulled out a chair for me with a dramatic bow. "Your throne, my lady."
I laughed, settling in. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously talented," she corrected, gesturing grandly to the spread. "Behold: the Richards family culinary excellence."
As I sat down, I couldn't help but stare at her. Damn, girl… you didn't have to be this perfect.
She had her mother's height, but her own rhythm. Not as thick as Anika, but curved in all the right places—soft hips, strong legs, and a presence that filled the room like music. Her skin glowed under the warm lights, and her eyes—lighter than her mom's, almost a stormy mix of grey and blue—sparkled with mischief. A single dimple on her left cheek deepened every time she laughed, which was often. She wore a soft shorts jumper and the most ridiculous Elmo puffy slippers, like she'd just stepped out of a cartoon and into real life.
"What?" she asked, raising her brows and blowing exaggerated kisses at me like a lunatic. "Like what you see?" She spun dramatically, shaking her hips and tossing her head over her shoulder with mock elegance.
I giggled. "Are you ever normal?"
"No, sister pookie bear. This is normal," she said, poking my nose with a grin.
Julian appeared next, carrying a tray of mac and cheese and rice and peas, his grin wide and proud. My adopted dad stood tall and striking in slate-blue tailored pants and a crisp polo shirt that hugged his muscular frame just right. His dark brown hair was streaked with silver at the temples—like moonlight woven through mahogany. His jawline was sharp, his smile disarming, dimples deep, teeth perfect. His eyes, a rich, steady brown, softened every time he looked at us—but especially when they landed on Anika. He was in love with her in a way that didn't need words. You could see it. You could feel it. He was the kind of man who didn't have to speak to command a room. He just was.
"We didn't burn anything this time," he announced proudly.
"Except the cookies," Renae muttered.
"Those were experimental," he said, lifting his chin as he took his seat at the head of the table.
Then came Anika—the Queen.
She entered last, carrying a pitcher of sorrel and shaking her head. Her long, flowing hair shimmered under the chandelier, cascading down her back in soft waves. Her complexion was a delicate light brown, kissed by warmth, and her hazel eyes—soft and golden—caught every flicker of candlelight. Petite, maybe 5'4", but with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was. Slim-thick, elegant, and effortlessly poised, she looked like she belonged in a magazine spread—but she was too real, too grounded, too Anika for that.
"You two are lucky Veronica's too polite to judge your chaos," she said, setting the pitcher down.
"I'm not that polite," I replied with a smirk.
We all laughed.
As we passed plates and poured drinks, the room filled with warmth—not just from the food, but from the rhythm of family. Renae piled my plate high, insisting I try everything. Julian kept sneaking extra pieces of chicken onto mine when he thought I wasn't looking. Anika just smiled, watching it all unfold like a quiet symphony.
The chandelier sparkled above us. The golden tree painting on the wall glowed in the soft light. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like a guest.
"Can we go by the garden house I saw through my window earlier?" I asked, cheeks puffed with food.
"To do what?" Julian said, raising a brow. "Eat the flowers too? I mean, don't get me wrong—I know my cooking is bam, but those flowers ain't gonna taste the same."
I choked, nearly spitting out my food. Grabbing my glass, I gulped down water.
"Julian," Anika warned, narrowing her eyes.
"Baby, come on," he said, grinning. "She's butchering the food, and it's my solemn duty to protect the flowers of my flowers."
Anika's cheeks flushed crimson.
"Oh God, Daaaad," Renae groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"I'mma say this again," Renae said, dramatically clutching her stomach. "If I see another Mini Richards… we boutta have serious problems in this house. And I'm eaaatiiing," she added, gagging into her napkin.
"Soooooo—" I began, trying to sneak in the question again.
"Yes, baby. We can go," Anika said smoothly, not even looking up.
"Sweet!" I jumped up from the table, practically vibrating. I started stacking dishes, eager to help, when a gentle hand pressed down on mine.
I looked up. All eyes were on me.
"What?" I asked, blinking.
Anika took the plate from my hands, her voice calm but firm. "It's not your job, sweetheart."
I smiled softly and took it back. "Renae and I can clean up. It's the least we can do."
Renae popped up beside me like she'd been waiting for the cue. "Most definite," she said, already reaching for the glasses.
But Anika stepped in again, her tone more serious now. "No. We'll do it, sweetie. Please, let us."
"Please," I said, holding her gaze. "It's the most I can do—for everything you've done for me."
Julian's voice cut in gently from the head of the table. "We don't do things expecting anything in return, Veronica."
"Mom, we got it," Renae said, nudging me with her hip. "Especially Dad, since he almost burned the house down."
Julian narrowed his eyes. "I won't live that down, will I?"
"Nope," we said in perfect unison.
Renae grinned wickedly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "And as the most leveled-up Executive Chef in this house, you still managed to burn a cookie, Dad."
Julian stood slowly, eyes locked on her like a predator sizing up his prey. "Oh, I'm gonna kill you."
He lunged across the table.
Renae and I froze.
Ready to run.
"SIT. THE FUCK. DOWN." Anika's voice cracked through the dining room like thunder.
We dropped into our seats so fast it felt like gravity had tripled. Backs straight. Hands folded. Eyes wide. We looked at her like toddlers caught drawing on the walls with permanent marker.
She stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like a sword. "Now that you're all settled," she said, voice low and dangerous, "you three will clean up this table, wipe down every surface, and then join me in the garden house. And if I find a single crumb left behind—a single crumb—I will personally revoke dessert privileges for a week. Maybe two."
Before she could blink, we scattered.
Plates. Glasses. Napkins. We were a blur of motion, racing to the kitchen like our lives depended on it.
Inside the safety of the kitchen, we collapsed against the counter, breathless and laughing.
"She's scary," I whispered.
"Tell me about it," Renae said, wide-eyed. "I mean, when they're short, it's like they have max anger. I guess it makes up for the height."
Julian walked in behind us, drying his hands with a towel. "You know, I've always said that. It's like concentrated fury."
We stood there giggling, trying to gesture with our fingers like we were measuring Anika's height.
Then we felt it.
That chill.
That silence.
That presence.
We turned slowly.
Julian's smile dropped. "She's behind me, isn't she?"
Anika stood in the doorway, arms folded, one brow arched so high it could've touched heaven.
"Say that again, honey," she said, voice like velvet over steel. "To my face."
Julian turned around slowly, eyes wide, mouth forming the word help me before he faced her fully.
"Hooonneeeey," he began, dragging the word out like he was auditioning for a soap opera. "My beautiful, sexy wife. Elegance. Breathtaking. The best 5'4" fury lion this house has ever seen. I wouldn't ask for another woman like you… I love you."
Anika raised that perfectly arched brow higher, arms still crossed, lips twitching like she was deciding between a smile and a death sentence.
Renae and I took one synchronized step back, eyes wide.
"Sir," Renae whispered. "You are on your own."
Julian glanced over his shoulder at us, betrayal written all over his face. "You traitors," he hissed.
We didn't move.
We didn't breathe.
We just waited—for the moment Mom would levitate him with her eyes alone.
And then—
"More cleaning," Anika said sweetly, leaning in to kiss Julian on the cheek before turning on her heel and gliding out of the room like nothing happened.
We stood there, stunned.
Mouths open.
Minds blown.
Processing.
Julian blinked. "Did I just… survive?"
Renae and I looked at each other, then at him.
"Barely," I said.
"Miracle," Renae added.
Julian grinned, dimples flashing. "Still got it."
"Don't push it," we said in unison.
Then I realized something:
This was the most fun I'd had in a day.
This family—this wild, ridiculous, beautiful family—was truly unforgettable.