Chapter 137: They killed your father!

Nerrisa’s POV

By the time everyone gathers around the table, the kitchen smells like garlic, saffron, and something deliciously roasted.

Aunt Susan has clearly put a lot of work into dinner. The table is crowded with food, and the room is full of voices. Lysander’s mother sits near the head of the table, with Isabella beside her. A few other relatives are here too, people I’ve never met before.

I sit beside Lysander.

Nyox takes the seat opposite us.

He’s been talking to me since we sat down, asking questions about how I’m settling in and whether I’ve learned to cook anything beyond tomatoes. I tell him I can make a few things, ( which isn’t necessarily a lie....i can make coffe. That has to count as something....right?) but apparently none of them qualify as paella.

He looks delighted by that answer.

Lysander, on the other hand, looks like he’s reconsidering every decision that led to his brother’s return.

"Stop interrogating my wife," he tells Nyox.

"I’m just having a conversation with her."

"Have it with someone else."

Nyox turns to me. "Does he always do this?"

"Unfortunately."

"Good to know."

Lysander gives us both a look and I smile into my glass.

It’s strange seeing him like this. At home, he’s all cold stares and quiet threats, the kind of man who makes people straighten their backs when he walks into a room. Here, surrounded by his family, he still carries that same authority, but there’s something more relaxed about him.

He listens when his mother speaks, he lets Aunt Susan fuss over his plate, he even answers questions from relatives without looking like he wants to have them thrown out.

And Nyox keeps making sure I’m part of the conversation, much to Lysander’s obvious chagrin.

"So," Nyox says, turning to one of the men across the table, "you still telling that story about the horse?"

The man laughs. "It happened exactly like I said."

"It did not," Lysander mutters.

I look at him. "What horse?"

"Nothing."

Nyox’s grin widens. "Oh, it’s something."

Lysander points his fork at him. "Don’t."

I lean forward.

"Now I want to know."

"Of course you do," Lysander says.

Nyox opens his mouth, but before he can tell me anything, a fork hits the table hard enough to make the cutlery jump.

The conversation dies.

An uncle I’m assuming sets his fork down and looks straight at me.

"Okay, since no one wants to say it, I will." His voice cuts through the room. "Why is the Luciano girl here?"

A woman beside him reaches for his hand.

"Gerald...don’t do this."

"No, don’t shush me woman." He pulls his hand away. "Why is she here? She has no business being here....So that’s it? My brother isn’t alive anymore, and we’re wining and dining with enemies now?"

My stomach tightens.

I glance at Lysander to find his expression has gone still.

Jeremiah turns towards Nyox, who’s sitting close to Gerald.

"Can you take the wine from him? He’s had enough."

Nyox reaches for the bottle, but Gerald knocks his hand away. Hard.

"Don’t do that."

Isabella starts to speak.

"Uncle Gerald...."

Lysander raises a hand, stopping her.

Then he looks at his uncle.

"Uncle Gerald...."

His voice is coated in warning.

Gerald scoffs.

"Oh, shush, boy. You know your father would never have agreed to this. Bringing an enemy into our home. Inviting her into our private family dinners. I’m disappointed in you boy."

Lysander’s mother sets down her glass.

"Gerald, please. Let’s eat in peace. It’s been a while since the family has been together like this. Don’t ruin it. Susan put a lot of work into this dinner."

"Yes, you said it. Family." Gerald’s voice rises. "That fucking bitch isn’t family. She’s the enemy. They killed my brother!. They killed your father!!"

Silence drops over the table as I feel every pair of eyes turn towards me.

For a moment, I don’t know what to do with my hands. I could answer him, I could remind him that I didn’t kill anyone, that I didn’t choose the war between our families, that I’m sitting here because of a marriage arranged by men who wanted peace.

But I don’t say any of it.

I don’t owe him or anyone an explanation for my existence.

Lysander stands.

The scrape of his chair against the floor sounds painfully loud.

"You’re lucky I respect you, Uncle," he says. "But I won’t stand here and let you disrespect my wife in my presence."

Gerald’s mouth opens, but Lysander doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

He turns to me.

"We’re leaving."

He takes my hand and starts walking. I follow him for a few steps, then stop.

I look back at Aunt Susan. I can’t just leave without saying anything. It would be rude, and she didn’t deserve to have her dinner ruined.

"Thank you for the dinner, aunt Susan" I say. "It was lovely."

Her face softens, though I can see the embarrassment and hurt beneath it.

"You’re welcome, child."

I turn to Lysander’s mother. She’s already standing so I walk over and peck her cheek.

"Thanks for hosting me."

"You’re welcome, darling." She touches my arm. "I’m sorry about this. Please, feel free to come over anytime."

I nod, not making any promises.

Then I return to Lysander’s side.

His hand closes around mine again, firm but not painful. He leads me out of the dining room and down the hall. The voices behind us remain low, but I can still feel the weight of what happened following us.

Outside, the evening air brushes against my face. Lysander doesn’t speak as we walk towards the car. His jaw is tight, and his fingers remain wrapped around mine.

I don’t know what to say.

Part of me is angry. Not because Gerald thinks I’m an enemy. I’ve heard worse from people who knew far less about me.

It’s the way he said it. Like I was a stain on the table, like I had no right to sit beside my husband and share a meal with his family.

And part of me is embarrassed that Lysander had to defend me in front of everyone.

I look at him.

He opens the car door for me and I climb in without a word.

He closes it, walks around the front, and gets behind the wheel.

Then we head home.

Together.