CHAPTER 48: CHAPTER-48. (TWO LITTLE BUTTERFLIES).

The moment he asked me a question, I was about to jump out of my seat when something stabled me. I look back at the help and saw Dave’s hand gripping mine.

My eyes shot up to his face.

Dave wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was locked on his plate, calm, steady, like he hadn’t just sent a lightning bolt straight through my body with one simple gesture.

His thumb pressed lightly against my knuckles, grounding me, telling me in his own quiet way, breathe, idiot.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice not to crack. "Y-yeah, Grandpa," I managed, the words sticking to the roof of my mouth like gum. "Everything’s fine. Just... lost in thought."

Albert tilted his head, eyes twinkling with that annoying kind of wisdom that made me feel like he could see all my thoughts, every embarrassing, chaotic, hold his hand or don’t hold his hand mental debate.

"Good," he said simply, before turning back to Nicole, like the entire exchange had been a casual check-in rather than a full-blown heart attack for me.

Meanwhile, Dave’s hand stayed exactly where it was. Warm, steady. Almost too steady.

My brain screamed at me to say something, to acknowledge it, to do anything, but my mouth stayed firmly shut. Probably for the best.

Every time I opened my mouth, disaster seemed to follow.

While Walter and Vivian were busy in their conversation, Grandpa and Nicole were also distracted.

Taking advantage of the situation, I tried to pull my hand off his grip, but he would not budge.

I glared at him with my ’are-you-crazy-look’, but he ignored me as if everything was normal.

I glared at him with my are-you-crazy-look, but he ignored me as if everything was normal. Like we weren’t playing an under-the-table version of tug-of-war with my sanity as the prize.

"Dave," I hissed under my breath, barely moving my lips. "Let go."

He didn’t even blink. Just stabbed his fork into a roasted potato with the kind of calm that made me want to scream.

The nerve.

Holy Jesus, why in the world did I decide to console this brat? Now, looking at my sympathy towards him was nothing but a mockery of my own self.

I tried again, giving my hand a subtle yank. Nothing. His grip was firm, steady, maddening. If anything, the tiniest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he was enjoying this.

Oh, he was dead. If we survived this dinner without Vivian impaling me with her diamond earrings or Walter deciding to interrogate me about my family tree, I was absolutely going to murder him afterward. Slowly. Painfully. Maybe with that chandelier.

I leaned closer, keeping my smile plastered on like some beauty pageant contestant trying not to combust. "Dave, I swear, I will stab you with this fork."

That finally earned me a glance. Just a quick flick of his eyes toward me, lazy and unbothered, like Go ahead, see if you can manage it without the whole table noticing.

Infuriating man.

Meanwhile, my pulse was doing gymnastics, my palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t taste a single bite of the overpriced carrot currently on my plate.

Vivian kept throwing curious looks in our direction as if she somehow saw what was happening under the table. I wanted to shout at her that his son was I wanted to shout at her that her son was a complete menace.

That he wasn’t some perfect golden boy she thought she raised, but an insufferable brat currently holding me hostage by the hand like a toddler clinging to their favorite toy.

I couldn’t even focus on chewing anymore. My fork just hovered in midair like I’d forgotten how food worked.

Dave’s hand was still wrapped around mine, a constant reminder that I was basically trapped in some twisted hostage situation where the ransom was my sanity.

And, of course, the universe decided that was the perfect moment for Vivian to strike.

"So, Elena," she said, voice smooth and cutting at the same time, like silk wrapped around a blade. "How are things... these days?"

Oh no.

The kind of "these days" that wasn’t about weather or work. It was the kind of "these days" that came dipped in judgment, coated in family gossip, and baked at 350 degrees in the Morris oven of scrutiny.

I know somehow she wanted the conversation to turn to the part where I announced that I was getting a divorce from her very own son.

But this was no good. I glanced at Grandpa Albert, who fortunately looked at me and understood everything. Only we both knew about Dave’s condition at this table.

Even the mention of my decision could trigger him badly.

My throat went dry. These days. God, she made it sound like I’d been dragged here straight out of the gutter.

I forced a smile, thin and brittle. "They’re... fine." My voice came out too high-pitched, too squeaky. I cleared my throat. "Busy, you know. Life and all that."

Smooth, Elena. Real smooth.

Grandpa Albert too nodded at my reply when Vivian again spoke up, "That’s too vague. Give us some details. Are you..."

Vivian was about to complete her statement when Grandpa Albert interrupted and tried to turn the direction of the conversation, "Nicole, where are my granddaughter and great-granddaughter?"

Nicole’s eyebrows shifted upward at the sudden change, but somehow understanding the assignment, he replied, "Both Aunt-niece duo had the sudden urge to shop for her school’s first day. They will be back any minute now."

As soon as Nicole finished, the door of the dining hall opened up. And just like that, every head at the table turned. I also turned to see, and the moment my eyes lay on the ’aunt-niece duo’, my fork stopped mid air.

My eyes widened at the scene in front of me when Grandpa Albert spoke, "Hello, my two little butterflies. Grace and Lily, you two just lit up the whole room."