Page 88 of Ruthless Dream

“What’s he do for a living?” Nat asks.

“I have absolutely no fucking clue,” he replies and then immediately shakes his head. “I’m so⁠—”

“Oh, don’t fucking worry, we love cussing.” Nat sinks in her chair, pulling her wine glass toward her.

Mom chides, but she’s smiling.

“Do you plan on sticking around a while, though?” Nat asks, veering us back into awkwardness.

“Yes.” Ciaran adds nothing else, but the one word makes my heart hammer anyway.

I accidentally catch Mom’s eye. She smiles softly and then asks Ciaran if he’d like more food.

“So what are you going to do for Thanksgiving?” Nat asks. Dad’s fingers wrap around his fork, squeezing tight.

Ciaran doesn’t have an immediate answer.

“I mean, it’s a terrible holiday,” Nat says but restrains herself from launching into the historical context. “But the food is great, and you’re in America this year. Any plans?”

Ciaran shakes his head, looking like he’s truly never thought of it. I know his uncle, his boss, keeps them busy. At the very least he deserves a day relaxing, watching TV, and eating.

“You should come celebrate with us,” Nat says.

I don’t know who looks more surprised—Ciaran or my dad.

“You should,” my other sister says.

Ciaran blinks like he understands that this is a big deal for Lennie to agree. That having a strange man in her house, even if he’s dating me, is a big deal for the shy introvert.

“I-I don’t want to intrude,” he says.

Mom waves him off. “You’re not intruding, Ciaran. We’re inviting you to Thanksgiving, so come.”

“You can help carve the turkey.” Nat not so slyly looks at Dad.

His left eye twitches.

“Come to Thanksgiving.” Nat smiles wide.

I touch Ciaran’s thigh again. He doesn’t have to come spend more time with my insane family, but. . . The idea of hanging out with him all day is nice. Especially because it’ll be a day when I’m not thinking about schoolwork.

We could hang out. Like we do at his apartment. Only there will be a ton more food, and the house always smells great. Later, we’ll pull out Christmas decorations and. . .

I’ve done so well pretending like I don’t miss home. It’s stupid. I’m only an hour away by train. It’s not like Ciaran, who moved across an ocean.

My childhood wasn’t spent in this house, but it is my home. Where my parents reside, and I can’t believe this happened, but I actually miss living with my sisters.

Ciaran’s apartment is ten times better than my dorm room. He’s super sweet when he makes me dinner or leaves little notes in the morning if he gets up first.

A vision of Thanksgiving comes to me, marrying the two safe places. Ciaran and I here, at home with my family.

“You should come,” I tell him lightly. So it doesn’t come across as pressuring. His warm brown eyes are wide as he looks at me.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, aware our conversation is being watched by four different Akatov’s.

“Come,” I say, but the one word is also a question. He’s the one who gets to truly decide if he wants to.

“I’d be honored,” he immediately tells my mom.