Page 2 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Shiloh," Chris nudges me, prompting me to shake off the haze that Liam’s sudden appearance has cast over me.

"Sorry, just zoned out for a second." I offer a tight smile, but my eyes steal another glance at Liam. He's scanning the room, a frown creasing his brow as if he's measuring the space or perhaps the time he has to endure within it.

"Let’s eat," Darla claps her hands, her eyes darting between me and Liam, assessing, judging. She hasn't taken to me since we arrived. Maybe she senses that I’m not what she envisioned for her perfect son.

We shuffle into the dining room; the table is set immaculately, each place card penned with an elegant script. My seat is between Chris and Professor Walton—who insists I call him Rick—opposite Liam, who gets stuck at the far end next to Darla. As we take our seats, the tension mounts, the air thickening with every clink of silverware on fine china.

"Pass the cranberry sauce, would you?" Darla's voice cuts through the silence, her words directed at me, but her eyes fixed on Liam, who's slouched in his chair, looking every bit the unwilling guest.

"Of course, Mrs. Walton," I say, passing the bowl along, trying to ignore the way her lips purse when she looks at me. She’s made it clear without saying much that she doesn't think I'm good enough for her son. And, by extension, her family.

I glance at Liam, catching him staring back at me, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze.

Is it sympathy? Or shared discomfort?

His presence seems to draw all my attention—a magnet pulling against my better judgment.

"Thank you, Shiloh." Darla nods as she takes the sauce, though her thanks sound more like an appraisal than gratitude.

"Everything looks lovely, Mrs. Walton," I attempt conversation, but my compliment hangs awkwardly in the air, met with a curt nod before Darla directs her attention elsewhere.

Liam shifts in his seat, his disinterest in the proceedings palpable. He picks at his food, exchanging minimal words with those around him, answering questions with monosyllables. His demeanor suggests he'd rather be anywhere but here, and I can't help but wonder why he came at all.

"More wine, anyone?" Rick offers, attempting to lighten the mood.

"Please," I say too quickly, hoping the rich red will color my cheeks less noticeably and provide a distraction from the undercurrents swirling beneath polite conversation.

"You sure you don’t want something a little stronger?” he asks, flashing me a half-smile.

“She’s fine,” Chris mutters.

But I don’t mind the question…in fact, that small exchange feels like the most genuine interaction I've had all evening. And despite the nerves, the disapproval, and the tension, I find myself grateful for Liam's presence—it's a lifeline in a sea of pretense.

The conversation inevitably turns to Chris’s classes and grades, which seem to be the only thing Darla has any interest in. He tells Darla and Rick all about his classes and who his favorite professors are… then he starts waxing philosophical about Nietzsche.

I see Liam roll his eyes. Then he sees me watching him and starts watching me. His eyes dart over to Chris for a split second before he loudly interrupts his younger brother.

“Shiloh—you said you’re getting an English degree?”

I swallow hard, looking around at Chris’s appalled family. Darla looks like she’s ready to throttle Liam, though Rick is laughing quietly.

“Um… yeah,” I say, my voice high and reedy. “English lit, actually.”

“What period?”

“The classics,” I smile. “Brontë, Austen, Braddon…I love the female authors of the nineteenth century.”

“What's your favorite novel?" Liam asks.

I blush, fully aware that I’m going to sound immature—but I don’t get the impression Liam will care. "I know it might sound cliché, but...Jane Eyre."

"Brontë," he nods with a glint of approval in his eyes. "A classic tale of strength against adversity. Not silly at all."

"Jane is resilient," I say, feeling a warmth grow inside me. "She remains true to herself, despite everything."

"Resilience is an admirable trait," Liam replies.

“And the Brontë sisters themselves were incredibly resilient,” I nod along, getting more comfortable with the subject matter. “The way they fought to do what they loved, even in a world that seemed to defy them at every step… I would love to make it my life’s work to tell their story and prop up their work. I’m really intrigued by the way they talk about class and trauma—”

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