Page 67 of Moonlit Temptation

I refused to start with Saint.

However, since I was a thoughtful individual, I sent him a text letting him know I made it back.

I know we agreed on minimal texting, keeping it to mostly at night, but it was an innocent enough text. Something I would’ve sent him regardless.

See, I told him I wasn’t good at following rules.

Rules or not, it still kind of stung that he didn’t do the same.

But instead of letting that get to me, I did something out of character.

I rationalized.

He was probably catching up on work. He took an extra week out of the office, I was sure he had a lot of tasks that needed attention and didn’t want to be bothered.

Which would also explain why, by the time we got back home, he still hadn’t responded. Nor did I have a text waiting for me by the time I woke up the next morning.

I ignored the worry gnawing at my stomach.

He would reach out.

Eventually.

I didn’t see my brother or father until dinner the day after I got home from the airport.

As soon as I woke up and noticed that my phone still lacked a notification from Saint, I grabbed my skateboard and went to the Bowl, where I stayed for hours.

Until Jessa texted me with a reminder to be home for dinner.

Sunday dinner was my dad’s favorite tradition, and trust me when I say the man had a lot of traditions.

But instead of inviting half the town’s judicial system like he usually did, it was a smaller affair with only the four of us.

After all, it was the first time we were all together since my graduation a couple of months ago.

I preferred a house full of people, filling the space with conversation instead of the sounds of silverware hitting fine China, like it was now.

Neither Archer nor my father asked about my trip.

I didn’t divulge any information on it, either. We were all tense. We were always tense around each other, as if waiting for a bomb to go off.

Archer sat on the right hand of our father, picking at his food to keep from making eye contact with anyone, least of all Dad.

Anthony Novak was a strict hard-ass, but he was hardest on his son, stuck in the sexist and dated idea that the son was the shining star of the family.

He pushed Archer to be the best of us, which meant he picked apart every word, dissected every action, and questioned all his business moves.

Arch didn’t talk at these dinners unless he was spoken to.

Jessa, who sat on the left side of my father, ignored all of us, choosing to spend her dinner alternating between her plate and the book she was reading. Surprise, surprise, it was another law book.

I stared off into space while swirling my food around the plate from where I sat on Jessa’s other side. The furthest from our father.

Not that it mattered. He hadn’t even glanced in my direction since I walked into the dining room.

Still angry about my decision to not go to college.

I stifled a sigh.

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