Page 120 of Tricked By Jack
“It’s appreciation,” I correct, coming up behind her to help smooth the fabric over her shoulders. “You look beautiful.”
She turns in my arms, gray eyes assessing my face with the clinical precision she never quite sheds. “And you look like you’re plotting an escape route.”
“I’m not,” I grin, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But if I’m honest, I’m ready to get the fuck away from our wardens.” It’s only half a joke. They’ve both been acting like they have a say on any movements we’ve made.
Eve’s eyebrow arches, skepticism etched in the gesture. “Carolina went to a lot of trouble for this dinner. The least you can do is pretend to want to be there.”
I sigh, conceding the point. “For you, I’ll endure small talk and my brother’s insufferable smugness.”
“Such sacrifice,” she mocks, but there’s warmth in her voice, a spark of the Eve from before. It makes something loosen in my chest, a knot I didn’t realize I was carrying.
We move through Nick’s corridors, my hand at the small of Eve’s back—support without show. Her gait is stronger, but I feel the lean into me on the stairs, the measured breath before each step.
Golden light spills from the dining room, pooling across polished floors. Inside, Carolina has clearly gone all out. Candles flickering on the long table, fine china gleaming, wine already poured into crystal glasses. In the bassinet near Carolina’s chair, Willow sleeps, tiny fists curled against her cheeks.
“There you are,” Carolina says, rising to greet us. She kisses Eve’s cheek, then mine, her smile genuine but careful. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your minds.”
“And miss your cooking?” Eve replies, squeezing Carolina’s hand. “Never.”
The ease between them still surprises me—this friendship forged in the aftermath of violence. Carolina has been Eve’s most frequent visitor during our convalescence, bringing books, food, and the quiet solidarity of someone who understands what it means to love a Knight man.
Nick guffaws from where he’s sitting. “She hasn’t—”
“If you want to get laid tonight, you better leave that sentence unfinished,” my sister-in-law threatens.
“Sorry, Kitten,” he grins, not looking contrite at all. My brother’s eyes track me as I help Eve into her chair. “You look better.” I’m not sure which of us he’s addressing until he adds. “Less like death warmed over.”
Taking the mature route, I flip him offwhile Carolina admonishes him. Eve just smiles as she settles her napkin in her lap.
“I’ll take that as the Knight version of a compliment.”
“It was,” my brother confirms, lifting his water glass in a silent toast.
The first course arrives—a salad that looks anything but appetizing. We eat in companionable silence broken only by the clink of forks against china and Nick’s occasional glances toward Willow’s bassinet.
“She’ll sleep through anything,” Carolina says, noticing my brother’s vigilance. “Just like her father.”
Nick’s expression softens in a way I rarely see, a tenderness reserved solely for his wife and daughter. “A useful trait in this family.”
The words land heavier than he means, the reality of being a Knight thick in the air between us. I feel Eve tense beside me, her fork pausing halfway to her lips.
“Speaking of family traits,” Nick continues, his gaze shifting to me, “Jack has made a decision I think you should both know about.”
I roll my eyes at the way he phrases it, like he didn’t run and tell his wife the second I told him. Eve’s eyes find mine, questioning. I reach under the table, squeezing her knee gently.
“I’ve already told you. He’s talking about me being out,” I say simply.
“Right.” She nods. “I’m still not sure what that means.”
“Of the family business,” Nick clarifies, as servants clear the salad and bring the main course—steaks so rare I lick my lips in anticipation, roasted vegetables, fresh bread still steaming. “Jack’s retiring from Knight Enterprises.”
Carolina starts serving, passing plates with practiced grace. “Which means more time for you two to figure out what comes next,” she adds, her tone deliberately light.
Eve doesn’t look away from my brother, her face neutral. “And you’re okay with this?” she asks him.
When I told her about it while we were holed up in our recovery room, she kept nervously asking if I was sure I could leave, and if Nick would hold it against her or me. That’s why I told him to bring it up tonight at dinner.
He shrugs, slicing into his meat with precision. “It’s his choice. Always has been.”
