Page 82 of One Touch

All day his smile had been forced, and between the two of us, I couldn’t tell who wanted to bail more.

Why had I ever agreed to this in the first place? How did I even get to this point?

Sitting at a Miller family holiday next to brooding grump Beckett and wanting nothing more than to grab his hand and runhome.

As I stared at his profile, I heard a subtle click and was reminded that, even during dinner, we were being photographed. My eyes landed on my lap, where Beckett gripped my hand and gently brought my knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

There are those butterflies again.

“So, Katie, I see another son of mine has captured your attention.” Beckett tensed beside me, and I swallowed hard at his mother’s rather uncouth and obvious dig.

Speculative, busybody eyes from down the long table immediately swung our way as Beckett’s voice rose above what would be consideredpolite conversation. “Mother—”

I squeezed Beckett’s hand and steadied my breath. “Beckett has been friends with my oldest brother Duke for a very long time. He was gracious enough to undertake renovations to our aunt’s farmhouse.”

Mrs. Miller tilted her head in a cool, calculated smile. “I’ve heard your little social media page has gotten quite a bit of attention thanks to my son. I get to hear all about it when I brunch with the ladies.”

At that I let out a soft laugh. “He is a favorite of the ladies.”

Her perfect face tipped down into a subtle frown.

I know that look. It’s the dreaded disapproving mother look.

Trying to recover, I added, “Beckett has truly outdone himself with the renovation. If you’re a follower, you may have seen we uncovered a speakeasy that was hidden away. Beckett was able to modify the original plans to preserve the space while making it a functional part of the house.”

“A space for criminals and alcoholics. How charming.” The twitch in her lip made it look like she was swallowing a gag. “More mashed potatoes?” His mother slid the dish in my direction.

“Kate doesn’t like mashed potatoes.”

My head whipped in Beckett’s direction.How the hell did he know that?

“Of course she does. She asked for my recipe last Christmas.”

“You mean Aunt Maude’s recipe,” he said coolly, adding his own subtle dig to the conversation.

I reached for the serving dish. “It’s fine,” I whispered to him.

He stopped me mid reach, my arm outstretched across the massive table. “It’s not fine. You don’t like them. You don’t have to eat them just because she told you to.”

Heat flamed in my cheeks as my eyes flicked among Mrs. Miller, Declan, and the rest of the table guests. I forced myself to smile, but I could feel it wobble at the edges.

Old Kate—the one with the deep, innate desire to please everyone and smooth things over—reared her head. I’d workedso hardto never be that girl again, but under the cumulative frosty stares of the Miller family, I shrank back.

My eyes pleaded with Beckett to not make a scene. My nerves frayed at the edges, and when I looked up at him, concern darkened his features. The conversation continued around us, picking up wherever it left off as the silent, ninja camerawoman continued to document the fake family holiday.

Mr. Miller was a man I’d heard speak only a handful of times. Typically he was relegated to work meetings or had his nose in his phone, busying himself with an important email or phone call. When he focused his attention on Beckett, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

“This social media page ...” He leaned back in his chair, quietly assessing his oldest son. “You’ve been smart enough to monetize it, haven’t you?”

My eyes flicked between Beckett and his imposing father.

Beckett slowly looked up. “It’s Kate’s page. Those are her decisions.”

Mr. Miller scoffed. “Nonsense. I’ve seen the posts. She’s made an impression by exploiting you. Whoring out your image to lonely women on the internet.”

My mouth popped open as a low noise rumbled out of Beckett. His fist clenched beside me.

I tried to laugh off his comment. “I’ve been having a good time documenting the renovation. Teasing Beckett was just part of the fun.”

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