Dinner.

Dinner.
Kaiden

Setting the table shouldn’t feel like a sacred act, but somehow it does. Hunter’s across from me, straightening cutlery that doesn’t need straightening, probably just for something to do with his big hands. I get it. Because if I’m not careful, mine are going to end up around Alina’s waist instead of holding plates. She’s at the counter, her back to us, humming softly while she stirs something in the pot. That long, black dress moves with her, shimmering with every step, clinging to her like it was made just for her. And it hits me like a sucker punch. She always looks good, always commands a room, but tonight... tonight she looks like she was carved out of every dream I’ve ever had. I sneak another glance. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and my chest tightens. It’s shocking really, how easily she fits into any role. She can tear a man apart without breaking a sweat, but here she is, barefoot in our kitchen, making dinner like she’s been doing this her whole life. Strong, but soft when she wants to be. A warrior who isn’t too proud to let herself be cared for.
Hunter catches me staring and smirks, shaking his head. “You’re whipped.”
I grin, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah,” I say quietly, watching her laugh at something on the radio, “and I’ve never been happier about it.”
Because this woman, our woman, is power and peace in the same breath. A storm and the calm that follows. She’s everything I never knew I needed, and somehow, she’s here, in our home, looking like she could rule the world. And the wildest part? I’d let her. Gladly. She turns then, catching me watching, and smiles. That’s it. I’m done for.

The knock on the front door hit harder than it should’ve. One sharp thud-thud-thud, and suddenly the warmth in the kitchen shifted, like a candle flickering under a draft. Reality crashed down. It had been perfect. Just us, laughing, setting the table, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. But now? Now the world was knocking. And that world’s name was Isla. Last time she and Alina were in a room together, it was chaos. Words that cut too deep, grief that hadn’t healed, and a storm none of us knew how to calm. I prayed, silently, fiercely, that tonight would be different. Hunter shot me a look as if to say here we go, before heading for the door. I followed, and behind us, I heard Alina’s soft footsteps. She didn’t hide this time. Didn’t retreat. She just moved quietly, with her chin lifted, like the fighter she is.
The door opened to Mason first, grinning that easy grin. “Evening, boys,” he said, clapping Hunter on the shoulder, then mine.
Nico followed, always the quiet one, his nod warm but cautious. Then Isla. She stepped forward, dressed in a cream blouse and black pants, her hair neat, her eyes sharp. They flicked over Hunter, me, and then landed on Alina. The air changed again. Thickened. The kind of silence that makes even walls hold their breath.

“Alina,” Isla said, voice even but cold.
“Isla,” Alina replied, calm, too calm, like she was standing on a wire over fire.
I could feel Hunter tense beside me, could practically hear Mason’s mental don’t you dare, Isla prayer.
So I did the only thing I could do, jumped in like a damn peacekeeper before it exploded.
“Dinner’s just about ready,” I said quickly, clapping my hands once like an idiot trying to change the subject. “So, why don’t we all head to the table, yeah? The food smells amazing.”
Mason, bless him, caught the lifeline immediately. “Perfect. I’m starving.” He ushered Isla forward before she could say anything else.
Alina didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glare. Just smoothed the front of her dress and walked past all of us, into the dining room.
Hunter muttered quietly as we followed, “Round two.”
“Yeah,” I whispered back, my heart pounding as I watched Isla take the seat across from Alina. “Let’s just hope this one ends with dessert.”

Dinner, at first, was almost… normal. The table looked beautiful. Alina had gone all out. Warm dishes lined the centre: steaming bowls of pelmeni, a tray of pirozhki, and a roasted chicken that smelled like heaven itself. I helped her set it all before we sat down, and for a few minutes, the conversation actually flowed the way I prayed it would.
Nico was the first to speak up, pointing his fork at one of the little dumplings. “What is this?” he asked, curious. “It’s incredible.”
Alina smiled, a small flicker of pride softening her edges. “Pelmeni. It’s Russian. My grandmother used to make them every winter.”
Nico grinned, going for another bite. “You can thank her on my behalf, because damn, this is good.”
That cracked some laughter around the table. Mason leaned back in his chair, glass in hand. “So, how are the pigs adjusting to their new kingdom?” he teased.
Alina chuckled. “They’ve claimed it like royalty. We just need to hang a few ‘Beware of Pig’ signs to complete the aesthetic.”
“Better make it plural,” Hunter muttered beside her, making everyone laugh again.

For a while, the tension was manageable. Isla, though… Isla hadn’t said much. She’d picked at her food, her fork scraping across the plate more than it lifted to her mouth. Three glasses of champagne in, she looked polished and cold, like ice in a crystal flute. Every time Alina spoke, I saw Isla’s jaw tighten just a little more. I kept the conversation light, asking Mason about Rosa, letting Hunter make jokes about Nix’s inability to cook, but still… Isla’s silence pressed down on all of us like a held breath.
Then, after one particularly long pause, she placed her fork down neatly and pushed her chair back. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice smooth but brittle around the edges. “Where’s the restroom?”
I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. “Upstairs, first door on the right. The downstairs one’s… still recovering from the great pig pen relocation.”
That earned a small laugh from Mason, but Isla didn’t even glance up. She just nodded once, stood, and started for the stairs, her heels clicking against the hardwood like a countdown. As her footsteps faded, the whole room seemed to deflate just a little.
Hunter glanced at me, a flicker of unease in his eyes.
“Round’s not over yet,” he murmured under his breath.
I exhaled through my nose, reaching for my glass. “Yeah,” I muttered, watching the curve of the staircase where Isla had disappeared. “I know.”