Page 14 of Scornful

I pick at my lasagna, my mind drifting back to that moment in the parking lot—the heat of Geirolf's body as he stoodclose to me, the unexpected gentleness of his calloused fingers examining my bruises, the low rumble of his voice.

"Earth to Astrid," Ingrid says, waving a hand in front of my face. "Where'd you go? You've been staring at that garlic bread for like five minutes."

I blink, heat rising to my cheeks. "Sorry, just tired. Long day at the spa, and then some."

"Uh-huh," Ingrid says, keeping her voice low, clearly not buying it. "Geirolf’s that hottie in the club, right?"

I nearly choke on my wine. "What? Gods, Ingrid! You’re a teenager. You can’t say that type of stuff about him."

Ingrid grins wickedly, still keeping her voice low. "I mean, I’m not blind. Plus, I heard you guys talking when I came in. Something about him handling a situation for you?"

"It's nothing," I say quickly, shooting warning glances at my brothers. "Just club stuff, and shouldn’t you be calling Bjorn or one of the other guys hot."

"Geirolf's a good man," Dad says, surprising me.

"He's also hot as hell," Ingrid adds, knowing she’s throwing fuel into the fire.

"Ingrid!" Mom exclaims, but there's amusement dancing in her eyes.

Ingrid is just like her, good lord.

"What? He is. All tall and broody with those ice-blue eyes. Half the girls at my school would sell their souls for a guy like that. The skull tattoo is a bonus."

"He's also way too old for you," Emil points out, his protective instincts shifting targets.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. "Duh. I'm just saying, objectively speaking, the man's a total smoke show." She turns to me, eyes gleaming. "Don't you think so, Astrid?"

All eyes at the table swivel to me, and I want to melt into the floor.

"I haven't really noticed," I lie, taking a large gulp of wine to hide my flaming cheeks.

"Bullshit," Ingrid coughs into her hand, earning a sharp "Language!" from Mom.

"That's enough," Dad grumbles, breaking up the conversation. "Geirolf is a brother, not some high school crush to giggle about. Don’t you have your boy bands to do that about or something?"

The conversation mercifully shifts after that, but I can feel my father's gaze lingering on me throughout the meal.

He doesn't miss much, my dad.

It's what makes him such an effective VP.

After dinner, I help Mom with the dishes while Ingrid is glued to her phone and the men disappear into the den to talk club business.

"You should stay the night," Charm suggests as she hands me a plate to dry. "It's getting late, and I know your dad would feel better having you here after what happened."

I consider it, but the thought of my apartment—my own space, my own rules—is too tempting. "Thanks, but I've got an early shift at the spa tomorrow. Fern's adding new services, and I need to get there early to set up."

Charm nods, understanding in her eyes. "At least let one of your brothers drive you home."

"I've got my car at Bubba’s," I remind her.

"Astrid." Her tone makes me look up. "Humor us just this once?"

I sigh, recognizing defeat when I see it. "Fine. But tell Emil no lectures on the way home."

Charm smiles, squeezing my hand. "Deal."

Later, as Emil drives me back to my small apartment near Fern's and Mom’s spa, he keeps his promise—mostly.

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