Page 67 of The Toy Collector

“I absolutely did.” He tears a piece of bread, butter knife poised. “It’s not every day I get to spoil my favorite niece.”

“I’m your only niece.”

“A technicality you never let me forget.” He grins, passing me the butter. “How’s school? Really?”

I spread butter on my bread, watching it melt into the warm dough. “It’s good. Challenging.” Between bites, I fill him in on everything worth mentioning.

“That’s my girl.” Pride colors his voice. “And the internship? Still learning the ropes?”

“It’s…” I search for words that aren’t lies, but don’t reveal too much. “Educational. I’m learning things they don’t teach in textbooks.”

“I bet you are. Politics is a blood sport dressed in Brooks Brothers.” He leans back as the server returns to clear our plates, making way for the main course. “Anyone giving you trouble?”

I think of Enzo’s hands on my throat, his voice in my ear. He’s not merely trouble; he’s temptation incarnate. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

The main course arrives; roasted turkey with chestnut stuffing, candied sweet potatoes topped with toasted marshmallows. There are also green beans, and, of course, the cranberry sauce I love. The scent of herbs and butter rises from the plates, familiar and comforting.

“This looks amazing,” I say, genuinely appreciative.

Food has never been a priority for me—too many years of my mother’s commentary on calories and dress sizes—but the more distant we become, and in huge parts, thanks to Teddy, I’ve learned to enjoy it.

“Only the best for our dinner.” He refills our wine glasses before I’ve made a dent in mine.

“So what are you up to these days? Anything new?” I ask as I spear a piece of turkey with my fork.

“I’m thinking of getting a cat.” Teddy laughs, a rich sound that fills the space between us.

I gasp. “A cat? No, Teddy, you can’t be serious. You can’t keep anything alive.”

He looks affronted. “Of course I can. Who do you think keeps me alive? I’m doing a damn fine job if I do say so myself.” A sly smile pulls at his lips and his eyes twinkle mischievously. “Besides, I’ve had Mr. Purrgatory for two months now, and he’s very much alive.”

I almost choke on my food. “Mr. Purrgatory?”

Teddy nods proudly. “That’s his name.”

The conversation flows easily from there—cats to his latest real estate acquisition, to a funny story about his housekeeper finding his secret stash of Pop-Tarts.

It’s comfortable, warm, the kind of interaction that requires no performance. With Teddy, I don’t have to be the perfect student or the ambitious intern. I can just be Piper.

“You know,” he says after a lull, a forkful of sweet potato halfway to his mouth, “I’m proud of you. Not just for the school stuff or the career path. But for standing your ground.”

I know what he means. My choice to pursue politics instead of following my parents’ preferred path as trophy wife to someone socially acceptable, then a life of carefully managed appearances.

“It wasn’t really a choice,” I say softly. “I couldn’t do what they wanted and still be me.”

“That’s exactly why I’m proud.” He reaches across the table, squeezes my hand briefly. “Standing up for yourself is never easy. Especially not against Nathaniel and Evelyn Harrington, Social Terrorists Extraordinaire.”

I laugh despite myself. “They mean well.” Another half-truth. They mean well for themselves, for their image. For me? Never.

“Only if it benefits them.” Teddy’s voice turns serious. “Never forget that, Piper. People will always act in their own self-interest. The trick is finding the ones whose interests align with yours.”

His words hit closer to home than he could know. What is Enzo’s interest in me? Not just sex—he could have that from anyone. Definitely not power, since he already has that in abundance. Something else, something I can’t quite name.

“You’ve always been sharp, kiddo,” Teddy continues, unaware of my internal struggle. “Don’t let anyone dull that.”

“I won’t,” I promise, but even as the words leave my mouth, I feel the lie in them. I’m already letting Enzo reshape parts of me, sand down edges I once thought essential. The worst part is, I like it. I crave it.

We finish our meal with pumpkin cheesecake. The restaurant has emptied somewhat, the early dinner crowd replaced by those who dine fashionably late.

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