Page 93 of Stalked
Landon's expression darkens. “We agreed never to speak of that.”
“Chandelier incident?” Bianca echoes.
“Absolutely not,” Landon says firmly.
“Oh, come on,” Knox wheedles. “It's been years.”
“No.”
“Someone,” I say, deliberately drawing out the word while looking at Landon, “thought it would be romantic to use the chandelier as an anchor point for suspension.”
Lia's eyes widen. “The one in the main hall?”
“The very same,” Xavier confirms. “Which is why we now have weight limits clearly posted on all fixtures.”
The conversation shifts as the main course arrives—perfectly seared steaks for everyone except Bianca, who's gone for the salmon.
“I have to say,” Lia comments, cutting into her steak, “this is not how I imagined my first Blackwood family dinner would go.”
“What were you expecting?” Knox asks. “Human sacrifice? Blood oaths?”
“That's Tuesdays,” Xavier quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Mira.
I slip my hand onto Lia's thigh under the table. “The night's still young.”
Landon refills his wine glass. “Speaking of nights, the security updates for the warehouse are complete. No blind spots remain after the last… incident.”
Xavier nods. “Good. With the Orlov situation heating up, we need everything airtight.”
The atmosphere shifts subtly. Bianca's fork freezes halfway to her mouth, her posture suddenly rigid. Knox's playful demeanor vanishes as his arm tightens protectively around her shoulders.
“Not at dinner,” Knox says, his voice low and dangerous.
I glance at Bianca's pale face, remembering how Knox had wanted to tear through Ravenwood looking for her after she disappeared. Knox hadn't been the same since.
“Of course,” Xavier concedes. “My apologies, Bianca.”
She forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. “It's fine.”
Mira smoothly changes the subject. “The dessert is incredible. Lia, you have to try the chocolate soufflé.”
As conversation resumes, I notice Knox whispering something in Bianca's ear that makes her relax against him. Whatever happened during those three days she was missing, it left marks deeper than the fading bruises on her wrists.
Lia catches my eye, a question in her gaze. I shake my head slightly—not now.
“More wine?” I offer instead, reaching for the bottle.
The conversation flows more easily as we make our way through dessert. Lia relaxes beside me, even laughing at one of Knox's ridiculous stories about a client who tried to pay his tab at Purgatory with rare comic books.
“They weren't even mint condition,” Knox complains, gesturing with his fork. “Like I'm going to accept water-damaged X-Men for a five-figure bar tab.”
“You should've seen the look on the guy's face when Knox returned them in worse condition,” I add, earning an approving smirk from my youngest brother.
As the staff clears the dessert plates, Mira catches Xavier's eye in that subtle way they communicate without words. She smiles and turns to the other women.
“Ladies, why don't we move to the living room for cocktails? I make a mean espresso martini.”
Sadie perks up immediately. “That sounds perfect.”
