Chapter 21 The Masks Crumble
Dinner was supposed to be simple.
Just the three of them; Ariella, Aiden, and Lily eating together in the “informal dining room,” which was still more formal than any room Ariella had ever eaten in. Jennifer had assured her it would be “casual, family-style,” which apparently meant a table that seated twelve, settings with more forks than Ariella knew what to do with, and a chef preparing food in a kitchen the size of her entire apartment.
“This is your version of casual?” Ariella had asked when she came downstairs at seven.
“Wait until you see formal dinner,” Lily said, already seated. “It’s like dining with royalty. Except more depressing because it’s just us and Dad never eats anything.”
Aiden appeared in the doorway, looking marginally better than he had that afternoon. He’d showered, changed into clean clothes, attempted to fix his hair. But his eyes were still red-rimmed, still carrying the weight of watching his father die.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
They stood there awkwardly until Lily groaned. “Oh my god, you two are painful. Just sit down. Pretend you like each other. It’s not that hard.”
“We do like each other,” Aiden said, sitting across from Ariella.
“Then act like it. Because if you’re this awkward at dinner, the staff are going to know something’s wrong. And then they’ll talk. And then we’re all screwed.” Lily pointed her fork at them. “So practice. Flirt. Hold hands. Look at each other like you’re not both dead inside.”
“You’re fourteen,” Aiden said. “Where did you learn to be so cynical?”
“I live in this house. Cynicism is survival.”
The chef a woman in her fifties who introduced herself as Marie brought out the first course. Some kind of soup with garnishes Ariella couldn’t identify. It looked like art. It probably cost more than her family spent on groceries in a week.
“Marie should know about your dietary restrictions,” Jennifer said, appearing briefly in the doorway. “I don’t have dietary restrictions,” Ariella said.
Everyone looked at her wide eyed.
“You must have something,” Jennifer said. “Everyone has preferences. Allergies. Things they won’t eat.”
“I eat whatever’s available. We couldn’t afford to be picky.”
The silence that followed was excruciating.
“Right,” Jennifer said finally. “Well, if that changes, just let us know.”
She left. Marie served the soup and disappeared. And then it was just the three of them, sitting at a table meant for twelve, pretending this was normal.
“So,” Lily said brightly. “Let’s practice the story. How did you two meet?”
“Children’s Hospital Gala,” Aiden said mechanically. “February 14th. Valentine’s Day.”
“And what were you wearing?”
“A… dress?”
“What kind of dress?”
Ariella had no idea. “A blue one?”
“Navy,” Aiden added. “With…” He paused, actually looking at her. “With that neckline that showed your collarbone. And you wore your hair down. It kept falling in your face and you kept pushing it back.”
Ariella blinked. “That’s very specific for something that didn’t happen.”
“Patricia sent me photos. From other events. So I could describe you accurately.” He looked embarrassed. “I studied them. So I wouldn’t mess up the story.”
“You studied photos of me?”
“I studied photos of a stranger I’m supposed to convince the world I’m in love with. It felt like the least I could do.”
“That’s either really sweet or really creepy,” Lily said..
Ariella smiled. “What else did you learn from the photos?”
“That you don’t like having your picture taken. You’re always slightly out of frame or looking away. Like you’re trying to escape.” He paused. “And that you have a scar on your left hand. Small. Between your thumb and forefinger. From a burn, probably.”
Ariella looked at her hand. The scar was tiny, barely visible. She’d gotten it years ago, pulling a sheet pan from the oven too quickly.
“You saw that in a photo?”
“I notice details.” Aiden’s voice was quiet. “It’s what I do. Architecture is just noticing what’s already there and making it make sense.”
They looked at each other across the table, and something passed between them. Not attraction, exactly. But recognition. Like they were starting to see each other as actual people instead of just characters in his fathers’ stories.
“Okay, you two are getting less painful,” Lily announced. “But you need to practice touching. Couples touch. Casually. Without thinking about it.”
“I’m not touching her at dinner,” Aiden said. “That’s weird.”
“It’s not weird if you’re engaged. Come on. Just hold her hand or something. Make it look natural.”
Aiden looked at Ariella. “Is this okay? We don’t have to…”
“It’s fine.” Ariella put her hand on the table, palm up. An offering.
Aiden stared at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached across and took her hand.
His hand was warm. Slightly rough from whatever he did with his pencils and drafting paper. His fingers were longer than hers, wrapping around her palm like they were made to fit.
It should have felt awkward. Performative.
Instead, it just felt… safe.
“See?” Lily said. “Not painful. You can do this.”
They held hands through the soup course. Through the salad. Through the main course that was too fancy to identify. And somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like practice and started feeling like something else.