Page 102 of Boiling Point
“Then what do you mean?” I leaned back, arms crossed. “The trust you set up when I turned eighteen? The one I haven’ttouched? The company shares I let sit idle? She doesn’t even know those exist.”
“All the more reason to protect them.”
“From what, exactly?”
“Callum,” he said with a sigh, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “It’s the proper thing to do. You know that.”
Proper. That word. Always that word.
“I know she doesn’t care about the money. Or the name.”
His expression didn’t change. “And you’re sure of that?”
The air suddenly turned thin, brittle. “Yes,” I said slowly. “I am.”
“Then it shouldn’t matter to her.”
He held my gaze, the old challenge still there. But something behind it shifted. He didn’t argue. Didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he reached for his cup and took a long, measured sip of tea that had surely gone cold.
Chapter 36
Gabrielle
Avery approached with a plate distinctly different from the others. I caught the scent first—earthy and rich, with a hint of wine-steeped shallots. When he set it down, I saw the difference: a golden galette, delicately folded and ringed with a reduction that looked brushed on by hand. Unlike the others, there was no filet, no jus—just a beautifully composed vegetarian dish, as intentional and elegant as the rest.
“Thank you,” I said.
Avery gave a tight nod and moved on. No one else acknowledged him. I couldn’t tell if that was the norm here, or if I’d already broken yet another invisible rule.
The table gleamed beneath polished silver and cut crystal, everything symmetrical, like it had been arranged by an architect with OCD. Candles burned low in silver holders, their light dancing across porcelain plates and the deep ruby of the wine. The room itself was grand in a way no photograph could capture—wood-paneled walls, oil portraits with steady eyes, and windows framed in heavy damask. It was warm, but not cozy. Elegant without feeling lived in.
I’d sat at my Aunt Suzy’s dining table plenty of times—formal meals with cloth napkins, matching china, and a centerpiecethat changed with the seasons. But this wasn’t just formal. This was curated. Historic. Like every piece had a story and a pedigree.
The people matched the setting. Women in shimmering beaded silks, men in tuxedos—though they called them “dinner jackets,” which sounded woefully inadequate for what they actually were.
And then there was Cal. Cal in a tuxedo was so sinful it should be illegal. Clean and crisp. Polished and devastating. I’d seen him dressed sharply before—shirt, tie, and jacket for class. But this—this version of him was something else entirely. All control and filigreed elegance. He looked like he belonged here.
And somehow, impossibly, he was holding my hand under the table.
I smoothed my napkin and adjusted my dress. Deep violet silk, sleeveless, with a neckline that had derailed Cal’s train of thought more than once. I had worn it for him, not his family, but now, under their collective gaze, I wasn’t sure if it read confident or naïve.
Seated on Cal’s other side, Caroline—James’s wife—leaned in just enough to make it look casual. “Remind me how you two met. I don’t think I’ve heard the full story.” Her tone was honeyed, her expression poised, but her eyes held a flicker of mischief. Or maybe it was warning. Either way, it was a performance. They all knew.
The moment settled over the table like a second tablecloth.
Cal, mercifully, didn’t miss a beat. “At the university,” he said smoothly. “Gabrielle is an exceptionally gifted engineering student—brilliant and annoyingly self-sufficient. At least until her car battery died at the start of term.”
A few brows rose. Caroline’s smile tightened slightly.
“It was late, cold, and pouring rain,” he went on, his tone just conversational enough to mask the significance. “I couldn’t verywell leave her stranded in the car park, so I offered her a ride home. Seemed practical at the time, though in hindsight?—”
“It was a bit cinematic,” I finished, managing a smile.
Lord Branleigh gave a low hum of amusement, finally glancing my way. “Letting a battery go flat? I wouldn’t have pegged that for an aspiring engineer.”
The corner of Cal’s mouth ticked upward. “She had an emergency kit. Just no one to call.”
“I’m resourceful,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Not a magician.”
