Chapter 4 - The Dinner PartyBy six o'clock that evening, Damon returned home carrying a massive bouquet of long-stemmed white roses and a box of artisan chocolates from the bakery downtown.
He wore his most charming smile, stepping into the kitchen where I was quietly prepping a salad.
"For the most beautiful mother-to-be in the world," Damon declared, kissing my cheek and setting the roses on the island. He looked around the clean kitchen, checking my posture. "How are you feeling? Did you get some rest?"
"I feel much better," I said, offering him a warm, practiced smile. "The rest helped a lot."
"I was thinking," Damon said, pouring himself a glass of red wine, "we should take a weekend trip to the coast next month. Just the two of us before the baby arrives."
"That sounds wonderful, Damon," I replied smoothly. "Oh, by the way... I invited Owen and Claire over for dinner tomorrow night."
Damon choked mid-sip, coughing violently as the wine went down the wrong pipe. His face turned beet red.
"You... you invited Owen and Claire?" he gasped, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. "Tomorrow? Emily, aren't you too tired for hosting?"
"Not at all," I said cheerfully, chopping cherry tomatoes with precision. "Claire texted me earlier saying she felt terrible about missing my appointment updates. I told her we should celebrate her upcoming wedding with a nice homemade dinner. I'm making your favorite roast."
Damon stared at me, his mind racing, trying to figure out if there was any hidden meaning behind my words. But my face was a picture of serene, pregnant domesticity.
"Is... is everything okay between you two?" Damon asked cautiously.
"Of course," I smiled, looking him straight in the eyes. "Claire is my best friend. I'd do anything for her."
Damon swallowed hard, forcing a tight laugh. "Right. Yeah. Of course."
The next evening at seven o'clock, the doorbell rang.
I opened the front door to find Owen and Claire standing on our porch. Owen held a bottle of vintage Napa cabernet, wearing his usual warm, easygoing smile.
Beside him stood Claire. She was wearing a high-necked beige sweater dress, her hair pulled back into a slick bun. But under her heavy makeup, her eyes were nervous, darting around the entryway like she was stepping into a minefield.
"Emily!" Owen greeted me warmly, pulling me into a gentle hug. "You look radiant! How's my little niece doing?"
"She's kicking up a storm, Owen," I smiled, stepping aside. "Come on in."
Claire stepped forward, her smile tight and strained. She reached out to hug me. "Em... I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to the clinic yesterday. Work was just insane."
As her arms wrapped around my shoulders, I smelled the lingering scent of peony perfume. The exact same perfume that had drenched my bed sheets thirty hours ago.
"Don't worry about it at all, Claire," I whispered into her ear, squeezing her back just a little too tightly. "I know how busy you've been."
Claire stiffened in my grip, pulling back quickly, her eyes wide with sudden apprehension.
Damon walked out of the living room, holding two cocktail glasses. "Owen! My man! Welcome!"
The two men clapped hands, while Claire's eyes darted nervously between Damon and me. Damon offered Claire a casual, distant nod—a masterclass in acting like they were nothing more than casual acquaintances.
We sat down at the mahogany dining table. The candles flickered, casting warm shadows across the room. I served the wine, the roast, and the fresh vegetables, playing the dutiful, charming hostess to perfection.
"So," Owen said, taking a sip of wine. "Damon, how are those coastal development figures looking? You mentioned last week that the second-quarter dividend distributions were going out on the fifteenth."
Damon paused, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. He shot a quick glance at Claire before smiling at Owen. "Everything's right on track, Owen. The land acquisition cleared, and the auditors are finishing up the final paperwork this week. You should see the transfer hit your account by Friday."
"That's great," Owen said, visibly relieved. "Honestly, man, that money is going to cover our wedding venue down payments."
I set my fork down on my plate with a deliberate, sharp CLINK.
The table went quiet.
"Speaking of transfers, Owen," I said smoothly, resting my chin on my hands, "I was looking over some real estate market reports today. Did you know that shell companies registered in Nevis don't require public disclosure of beneficial owners?"
Claire froze, her wineglass stopping inches from her lips.
Damon's posture went completely rigid. "Emily... what are you talking about? What does Nevis have to do with anything?"
"Oh, nothing," I smiled sweetly, taking a sip of my ice water. "I just find corporate structures fascinating lately. Don't you, Claire?"
Claire's face drained of every drop of color. She looked at Damon with wide, terrified eyes.
Damon tried to laugh, but the sound was thin and hollow. "Honey, you're confusing corporate law with investment banking. Let's not bore our guests with business talk."
"You're right," I agreed warmly, leaning back in my chair. "Let's talk about weddings instead. Claire, where is that gorgeous champagne lace camisole you bought for your honeymoon? You know, the one with the little blue glass charm?"
May you like
Claire dropped her wineglass.
The heavy crystal goblet tipped over, sending deep red wine cascading across the white linen tablecloth, pooling directly in front of Damon's plate like a fresh puddle of blood.
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