Family dinner

Family dinner
ROME

There was something about the silence in mansions like this.
Like the silence before a storm, it hovered rather than just resting on the cushions and the high ceilings.

I tried to anchor myself by sitting motionless, with my back straight and my nails pressed into my palms.

The Sanchez estate seemed less like a house and more like a magnificent mausoleum of expectation and power.

Here, hospitality was undoubtedly a flimsy façade. It was underpinned by criticism, scrutiny, and the implicit danger of failure.

Sitting beside Zayn should have made me feel safer; instead, it left me feeling more vulnerable.

I caught his hand under the table once and let it go almost immediately, not wanting to appear desperate for comfort.

The gamble, marrying into this family, was more real now than ever.

My father, Santiago Calloway, stood across from me, surveying the room with that sly gleam in his eyes, as if he could devour any vulnerability and use it to his advantage.

In contrast to most fathers, he had not aged. His sculpted features were only accentuated by his hair, which was now streaked with silver.

His gaze had hardened into something more ravenous in the years since he’d discovered our family’s fortune.

Money didn’t slow him down; it made him hungrier. And tonight, he drank in the Sanchez estate like a man claiming rightful territory.

On the edge of her seat next to him, my stepmother Genevieve's lips curved into courteous smiles that never made it to her eyes. She was an immaculate shell, the type of woman who had learned the proper way to act at any gathering… perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect fake interest.

Cassiel sat on her left, looking triumphantly mischievous. His jaw, still healing from whatever skirmish marred his cheek, flexed as he watched Zayn’s parents.

Despite the faint bruise blooming along his jaw, he seemed to relish his bruised appearance, as though it lent him character. I refused to pry into how he’d gotten it, tonight was bad enough.

Like kings compelled to compromise, Zayn's parents sat across the table. Alejandro Sanchez sat in dead silence, his steel-gray eyes moving back and forth between me and my father like he was assessing a chessboard.

He gritted his teeth around the stem of his wine glass, and I could feel the tension coiling in his shoulders all the time, as though he might strike at any second.

Sofia Sanchez, the epitome of female strength, appeared silent and royal. She looked through people, as though discerning their weaknesses from the tip of her napkin to the hush in their throat.

Neither had uttered a word since the entrée was served.

Zayn’s older brother, Fernandez, was conspicuously absent. His seat remained empty, indicating that the Sanchez blood was unwilling to mix with the Calloway desperation.

I had no doubt that it was intentional.

My stomach tightened as Santiago cleared his throat and leaned forward. “So,” he began, carving into his steak, “I was thinking we could continue our discussion after dinner. Alejandro, Sofia… I’m sure you’d agree that our families can complement each other beautifully.”

The words seemed to be begging for approval.

Nobody responded.

With a confident chuckle, my father spoke. “Well, marriage is the first sign of that, no?” He gazed at Zayn with a modicum of contentment. “After all, you and Rome are a lovely match.”

Although Zayn's jaw tensed, he paid little attention.

“Father,” I began, my voice tight, “maybe we shouldn’t—”

However, Santiago gave me an indulgently impatient nod. He never allowed interruptions when he believed he’d established his point.

"I think partnerships are important," he added, calmly putting down his utensils. “Especially when they’re mutually beneficial. Of course, Rome’s decision to marry Zayn Sanchez was unexpected…”

Genevieve’s laugh sliced through the room: “A whirlwind romance! But look at you two now,” she chirped, her tone saccharine. Her gaze flitted to Cassiel, who grinned as though he’d won a bet.

I felt a flick of disgust rise in me. That smile on Genevieve’s face was practiced; she delighted in this orchestrated spectacle.

“But,” Santiago went on, narrowing his eyes until they were cold slits, “I’m grateful he made the smart choice, finally. And I expect he’ll not disappoint.”

The warning in his voice was as unmistakable as a tiger’s growl. I did not reply. My throat felt constricted, my heart a stone in my chest.

Sofia dabbed her lips with her napkin. When she finally spoke, her tone cut through the air like ice. “Let me be clear: we are here only because Zayn insisted. That is the sole reason we attend.”

Alejandro set his glass down with a thud, his stare pinning my father. “Whatever business arrangements you expect won’t happen through flattery, Santiago. Or through this… contrivance.”

A cold dread settled in my gut, a sickening confirmation of everything I feared: my father showing that the only thing he cared about was the benefits.

Cassiel, never one to restrain himself, leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable to hope our families can—”

“No one asked what you think,” Zayn interrupted, his voice low but lethal.

Cassiel’s face tightened; he looked to my father for cover, but Santiago’s eyes stabbed him: Don’t speak unless spoken to.

The tension in the room was nearly suffocating, as thick as the aroma of red wine, duck fat, and roses from a dozen expensive bouquets.

“I think you’re being unnecessarily hostile,” Santiago said smoothly, attempting to regain the offensive. His eyes, however, were laced with malice. “My point is simple: our companies can benefit from a little… unity.”

Zayn offered a slow, measured smile. But it was a smile without warmth. It was a promise of reckoning.

“Unity?” he repeated, tilting his head like a curious cat. “You forced your son into a public marriage to scrape some prestige off the Sanchez name. And now you want a business deal on top of that?”

His words landed with the gravity of falling debris.

Genevieve gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest; Cassiel’s smug expression drained into pale shock. Alejandro sighed, but he did not rise to defend his old friend. He simply looked at Santiago with quiet disdain.

Santiago opened his mouth, then closed it. He exhaled, composed himself, then turned his eyes on me. “Rome. A word.”

Zayn’s gaze shifted to mine. His features were calm, but there was something unsteady in his dark eyes—like ice fracturing under heat. “You don’t have to go,” he murmured.

“I know,” I answered, trying to keep my cool while Zayn was trying to make us seem like the perfect couple.

I rose, the wood of my chair scraping faintly against the floor.

I walked from the table, and followed my father down the corridor until he shut the door behind us. The click reverberated against my spine.

Inside the smaller room, My father’s silhouette, backlit by the dining room’s glow, looked larger than life.

“You listen to me carefully,” he began, folding his hands behind his back. “This is not the time for you to get soft. That family needs us more than they admit, and I will not allow your husband’s ego to ruin everything.”

I drew in a breath, steadying the tremor in my chest. “You better stop all this madness. This marriage isn’t a merger, Mr. Calloway.”

He advanced a step, eyes blazing. “It is now.”

Shock knocked the wind out of me. I swallowed, tasting bile.

“You owe me, Rome,” he continued, pacing. “I cleaned up your messes. Protected you when you had nothing but shame as your inheritance. And now you get to sit beside the golden son of the Sanchez empire, don’t you dare mess this up with emotions.”

His words landed like blows. I fought the urge to shrink into myself, to fight him.

“You think you’re safe because Zayn likes your face?” he spat, stopping directly in front of me. “Grow up. If you want to matter in this world, build your place. Use what’s been given to you. Or you’ll lose every shard of it.”

I felt my pulse pound in my ears. My vision narrowed. “This is someone else's house and no matter what you don't have to bring the Calloway's shamelessness into this. And you can’t buy loyalty.”

He sneered. “Loyalty is earned. Remember that.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving me alone in that cold room. I pressed my back against the wall, feeling a tremor run through me. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing my heart to slow, my mind to quiet.

When I reopened them, the hallway seemed longer, darker. I made my way back, my shoulders hunched, to the dining room.

Dessert plates were scattered on the table, but no one was eating. Alejandro had risen, stepping back from the table like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Sofia’s hand was already brushing her hair from her face; she followed Alejandro’s lead toward the door.

Zayn didn’t look at me right away. Instead, he followed them with his gaze, then turned.

I swallowed hard, trying to collect myself. I had to put up with the perfect couple image anyway. “I’m going outside for a moment,” I told him.

He nodded, and I slipped through the garden doors into the cool night air.

…

The moonlight painted the manicured hedges in silver. I felt as though I were wading through a dream where every detail was sharper and colder than reality.

My limbs trembled as I inhaled the night, willing my pulse to calm.

A few steps from the terrace, I felt a presence behind me. Before I could turn, a hand closed around my neck, pressing me against the stone wall. The world tilted sideways immediately, my breath catching in my throat.

“Cassiel?” I tried to inhale, but his grip tightened. His breath reeked of wine. He staggered, unsteady on his feet.

“How does a disgusting piece of shit like you end up with Zayn Sanchez?” he slurred, eyes wild.

I wrenched my head back enough to meet his gaze. “Cassiel…”

I'd noticed how he had been giving me that disgusting look throughout the dinner and his eyes not leaving Zayn.

“Ssh,” he hissed, tightening his hold until I saw stars. “I saw how he looked at you tonight. The way he... touched you. I can't believe someone like you is being favored by Zayn Sanchez.“

It was simple: when Zayn proposed marriage to the Calloway Family, they all didn't expect me to be treated so well by him. Although it was all for show, this dinner tonight made them believe I was being treated good than they could ever imagine.

My pulse skittered. “Is that jealousy I see?” I choked out. “Or do you want Zayn yourself?”

He snarled, veins bulging at his temple. He raised his free hand to hit me…

However, lightning-fast, Zayn was there, knocking Cassiel off me and tackling him to the ground. Cassiel hit the stone patio with a groan; Zayn’s fist was already arcing toward his jaw.

“Don’t you ever touch him again!” Zayn roared, each word punctuated by a punch.

Cassiel cried out. I lunged forward, pressing a hand on Zayn’s arm, shock filling me. “Zayn, stop!”

He shook me off, his fists flying until blood spattered on the white stone.

“Stay away from him!” Zayn hissed, his voice cracked with fury.

Tears sprang to my eyes as blood oozed out from Cassiel's face. I hadn’t expected to see Zayn like this, going crazy just because of what had happened.

I yelled out, pooling my arms around him, pulling him from Cassiel’s battered form. He collapsed into me, heavy and trembling, fists still clenched as though he were fighting an unseen enemy.

He reeked of alcohol and I could tell he was drunk.

“Zayn,” I whispered, my voice coming out softly than I intended.

He sank to his knees, his face buried against my chest. I felt the heat of his tears through the fine fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured so faintly it was barely audible. Then his body went limp.