186 The Breakfast
Mara
Tiffany and I stayed at the table long after the storm had passed, working through our plates like nothing had happened. Martha kept glancing at us like we were monsters for eating while she wept, but I didn’t care. The bacon was perfect, the eggs fluffy, and I was starving. Pregnant and starving. Sympathy could wait.
“Don’t you have any sympathy?” Martha asked, voice raw as she dabbed her face with a napkin.
I met her gaze calmly, my fork halfway to my mouth. “I’m hungry,” I said through a mouthful. Obvious answer. Tiffany choked down a laugh and focused on her plate.
Martha gathered whatever pride she had left, straightened her clothes, and left the breakfast lounge in silence. The moment she was gone, a strange calm settled in the room.
“Now that Lucian and Darian are back,” Tiffany whispered, “can we go back to your house? I don’t want to keep tiptoeing
around Martha.”
I shook my head. “This wasn’t a nostalgia trip, Tiff. We’re here because it’s safe. Soldiers patrol this estate. It’s fortified. At our house in town, we have neighbors. Open streets. If Chase wants to strike, he’ll do it there. Not here. I’d rather stay put
and keep everyone breathing.”
Darian nodded, visibly impressed. “Smart call, Mara. Good job.”
Just then, Lucian walked in. Calm. At peace. That surprised me.
He leaned down and kissed my temple before settling beside me and dishing food like he hadn’t just confronted decades
of unresolved grief.
Darian cut to the chase. “How did it go?”
Lucian didn’t answer right away. He scooped some eggs onto his plate and poured himself a glass of juice before
speaking.
“I made peace with Father,” he said. “Katya and he will never see eye to eye. They both blame each other for what happened to my mother. But he and I… we’re good now.”
Darian exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing.
“And… is he really done?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly-code for what about my mother.
“He’s done with your mother, Lucian said plainly.
Darian didn’t react outwardly. He had expected it.
“So… he’s sending her back?” Darian asked.
Lucian shook his head, still chewing. “I convinced him to move her to our house in town. After your wedding.”
Tiffany started coughing. Darian looked like his eyes might pop out of his skull.
Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Come on, you two, this shouldn’t be an issue anymore.”
I shot him a warning pinch to the thigh.
He winced but kept going. “No, seriously, Mara. It shouldn’t be.”
I glanced at Tiffany. Her face was flushed, and she looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
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“Tiff is thinking about it, Lucian,” Darian said, his voice calm but firm. “After everything I did, I don’t expect her to just throw caution to the wind and marry me. I’m grateful she’s giving me the chance to prove myself. That’s what matters.”
Lucian nodded slowly. “I get that. I do. But still-you two should move forward. If there’s anything I’ve learned from all this…” He paused and glanced at me, brushing his fingers over mine gently. “…it’s that life is short. Look at Father- drowning in regrets.”
His eyes softened, and his voice dropped just a little.
“I love my wife with everything I’ve got. Every second I’m with her, I make it count. We’re not immortals. We don’t get time
back.”
Silence fell over the table again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was reflective. Darian looked at Tiffany, his face unreadable. Tiffany didn’t meet his gaze, but her hand inched toward his, and that was enough to give me hope.
But I knew better than anyone-it wasn’t about love. Tiffany had loved him once, deeply enough to give him everything. The question now was trust. Could she leap again, knowing how hard the landing was the first time?
We kept eating quietly-until a shrill voice cracked through the stillness.
Martha.
We could hear her clearly from the hall, even at this distance. Being wolves had its perks, and hearing Martha lose it in high-definition stereo was one of them.
Lucian and Darian pushed back their chairs immediately. I glanced at Tiffany, and we didn’t even need words. One look and we knew we were following. Whatever Martha was dragging into the hallway, it was bound to be messy.
I stood and straightened my dress, throwing on my best neutral expression. Tiffany followed closely behind, biting back a smirk. It wasn’t right, maybe, but Goddess help me, that woman was overdue for a dramatic crash. And I had front-row
seats.
“Let’s go see what masterpiece she’s painting now,” I muttered under my breath.
Because if Martha wanted to keep making a spectacle of herself, I was done cleaning up after her.
It was time to let the curtain rise.
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