Sunlight poured through the big windows in the dining room, lighting up the long mahogany table with a warm glow.
The clink of forks and spoons mixed with the smell of fresh coffee hanging in the air.
Millie moved between the table and the kitchen door, wearing the crisp white apron, balancing a tray full of hot plates.
She and Clara worked together like they’d done it a hundred times—toast lined up neat, coffee poured steady.
But Millie couldn’t shake the feeling that every move she made was being watched.
Ethan’s eyes stayed on her the whole time.
Every time their gazes met, a slow warmth spread through her middle.
His looks weren’t quick or casual.
They carried weight, like a quiet reminder of what happened between them last night in his study.
Aidan watched her differently.
His glances came fast and hot, and when their eyes locked, he’d give a small smirk—bold, no shame—like he was thinking about the laundry room all over again.
Only Evan brought something normal to the heavy mood.
His brown hair always looked a little messy, and his face lit up with an easy smile.
“Thanks,” he said when Millie refilled his orange juice glass.
He seemed like the only one not caught up in whatever invisible tension sat around the table.
She set a plate of pancakes in front of him.
He looked at them, then up at her with a teasing grin.
“How’d you know I was dying for pancakes this morning?”
Millie smiled back—real, not forced—but she didn’t answer.
She straightened up, gave the table a quick check, and turned to head back to the kitchen.
“Thanks, Amelia.” Ethan’s voice came out low, almost quiet, but it stopped her in her tracks.
She met his eyes for a second.
There was more in those two words than just “thanks.” Without saying anything, Millie kept walking, feeling three sets of eyes follow her the whole way.
The kitchen air felt cooler on her skin.
She leaned against the counter and let out a shaky breath.
This whole situation with the Moretti brothers was getting way too complicated.
“Rough morning?” Sheila asked, glancing at Millie’s flushed cheeks.
Millie shook her head quickly. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“I’m good. Just… nothing.”
“Okay then,” Sheila said, sliding a dish of boiled eggs her way.
“Mr. Jameson’s joining them. Can you take these out?”
Millie took a deep breath, tightened her grip on the tray, and headed back.
She passed Clara—who was busy with refills—and forced a smile.
It didn’t feel as natural as Clara’s, but she made it to the dining room without dropping anything.
The second she stepped in, all eyes turned her way again.
Heat crept up her neck.
Maybe nerves.
Maybe Ethan’s stare, steady and intense, was pushing her closer to losing it.
Then it happened.
As she turned, her fingers slipped on the greasy butter knife.
It dropped and clattered, and the butter dish followed.
Both hit the floor with a loud clang.
Her face burned.
Before she could bend down, two people were already there.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” Evan said, voice warm.
He crouched, scooped up the butter with a napkin, and grabbed the dish in one smooth move.
His usual easy smile made the small mess feel less awful.
Aidan was right behind him.
His hand brushed hers when they both reached for the knife.
The touch sent a quick spark up her arm.
She pulled back with a small gasp.
Evan stood up, unfazed.
“You seem a little off today, Millie. Maybe you need a strong coffee.”
Aidan gave a low laugh.
He held it out to her.
“Here.”
Millie mumbled thanks, heart thudding.
When she took the knife, she was pretty sure Aidan’s eyes lingered longer than they needed to.
For a second, she thought she saw something possessive in his look.
Then he turned away.
Her face felt hotter than ever.
Just when she thought the morning couldn’t get more awkward…
Chairs scraped and silverware clinked as Mr. Jameson walked in, dressed in his usual neat suit.
He gave a quick “Good morning” and sat down, looking like he had a million things on his mind.
“So, Jameson,” Evan said, “any word from Dad on how long we’re stuck here? Feels like we’ve been sent to time-out.”
Ethan gave him a dry look.
“We call him Father, Evan.”
Evan’s smile dimmed for a second.
“Right.” He cleared his throat and turned back to Mr. Jameson, forcing the cheer back into his voice.
“So, any idea how long dear old Dad plans to keep us locked up?”
“No update from your father yet, Evan,” Mr. Jameson said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
“Getting restless already?”
Evan’s eyes slid toward Millie, who was helping Clara with water glasses.
A sly grin tugged at his mouth.
“Restless? Nah, Mr. Jameson. The view here is pretty good.”
He winked.
Millie felt warmth climb her neck again.
She tried to focus on the pitcher, pouring water like her life depended on it, anything to avoid looking at him.
Mr. Jameson didn’t react to Evan’s joke.
He turned to Aidan.
“I did get a message from your father. It’s for you.”
Aidan, who’d been staring off, looked up quickly.
His whole body went stiff.
“About what?”
Mr. Jameson paused.
“Marionne.”