Tannyhill was too quiet when you walked in — the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, but performative. Everything was polished to a shine, from the mahogany floors to the crystal glasses already lined up on the dinner table.

You had never been to a Cameron family dinner before.

Rafe had warned you.

“They pretend like it’s normal,” he’d said while buttoning his shirt in the mirror. “But it’s not. None of this is.”

Now, seated next to him in a room too large for five people, you understood.

Ward sat at the head of the table like a king in exile. Rose smiled with sharpness in her eyes. Wheezie looked relieved you were there — maybe just to absorb some of the pressure.

Rafe hadn't let go of your hand since you sat down.

“So,” Ward said, setting down his wine. “Tell me, what exactly do you see in my son?”

You blinked, caught off guard. A fork clinked. Rafe tensed.

“I see the parts he doesn’t let most people see,” you said calmly. “And I love those parts.”

Rafe looked at you, a flicker of something soft behind his eyes. Gratitude. Maybe disbelief.

Ward gave a short laugh. “Well. That’s poetic.”

Rose chimed in, “Just be sure you know what you’re getting into.”

Wheezie rolled her eyes dramatically and stabbed a green bean.

Rafe dropped his napkin under the table and leaned down to grab it. But really, he just needed to breathe. You leaned down with him for a second — just enough for your shoulders to touch.

“You okay?” you whispered, your hand brushing his thigh under the table.

He nodded, jaw tight. “I hate it here.”

You looked at him — really looked. And then you reached under the table and laced your fingers with his again.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered.

When you sat up again, you kept holding his hand. He let you. Maybe for the first time, he let someone help carry the weight.

Dinner carried on with quiet tension and empty conversation. But none of it mattered — not really.

Because under the table, you and Rafe had a secret of your own.

You weren’t going anywhere.

And neither was he.

He’d sigh. Stretching out his arms. Along with flexing his muscles. His hand finally dropped down. But on your thigh and quite not where it should be.

You’d shudder looking at him with a soft groan. He’d just chuckle moving towards your ear. His breath making your hairs prickle.

“Don’t make a fucking sound, princess.”

Then his fingers slide under your laced underwear.

And he just loved teasing you.

That little fucker.