Page 153 of Burn Bright
My brothers and I are staring Thatcher down for the truth since Jane will try her best not to worry us.
“No stalkers,” Thatcher confirms, then looks to our dad.
From the head of the table, he informs us, “Rochester Industries is finalizing their acquisition ofCelebrity Crush.”
Eliot grimaces. “The enemy of the family has been named.”
I’m so far removed from the Rochester drama. It’sbeyondme, really, but I’m well aware that this affluent, assholish family has taken vested interest in us because they own a media conglomerate. And we’re a source of content. Meaning, we line their pockets every time they talk shit about us.
It doesn’t help that A.) the Rochesters are from the same area of Philadelphia. We grew up with those pricks. And B.) they’re about to own the most popular tabloid in the country.
“They might take unethical measures to gain headlines,” our dad cautions. “Just be wary who you talk to and bring around the family.”
Noted.
Jane returns to her seat, and Thatcher says, “I’m good to pass.” He’s the silent, brooding type and rarely likes to take the spotlight, even when offered. He’d prefer to watch Jane in it, I’m sure.
“Will you bring Harriet?” Audrey whispers to me. “To Maeve’s birthday?”
That’s November 15th.
I won’t be here.My muscles flex. “Maybe,” I whisper back.
“I’ll go next.” Beckett’s calm voice seizes our attention. He stabs a green bean with his fork and stares at his plate for a long, contemplative moment before his eyes lift to meet mine. “Ben.”
The way he says my name—with so much comfort and care like he could cradle those three letters for a lifetime. I’d let him. Flashes of last week cycle in my head.
The kitchen.
His arms.
My chest tightens and stomach sinks at the quick visual. I hate how one dark memory can slam to the front of my brain without warning. Without care. It feels like a violation because I didn’t ask to remember it in this gentle moment.
Beckett takes a steadying breath before he tells me, “I want to be here next Wednesday and the Wednesday after that. There’s not a moment I don’t want to be here, but it’s going to be impossible.”
I nod, understanding, even if my chest feels like someone dropped three fifty-pound weight plates on my sternum. He directs this to me because it’s not a fucking secret he’s been coming here for me.
He continues, “NYBC’s Opening Gala is next Friday, and I’m dancing the White Swan pas de deux. I can’t miss rehearsals next week to come down here.”
“I get it,” I say into a stronger nod. The heat of everyone’s gazes is stifling. “I don’t want you to miss ballet, Beck. I never have.”
His lips downturn, and I know he must be warring about choosing dance over me. But it’s not just dance. It’s his first love. The more I’m with Harriet, the more I’m beginning to understand what that means.
Audrey tosses two cranberries into her water goblet, then stands and taps the glass with her spoon. “Speaking of missing important, critical events,” she proclaims. “I was most grieved to have missed Beckett and Charlie’s birthday party. Tell me my invitation was eaten by a carnivorous plant.”
“Your invitation didn’t exist,” Charlie says pointedly. “You’re two years too early.”
“It was a nightclub,” Beckett adds. “They wouldn’t have let you past the doors.”
“Could you not have paid them?”
“Audrey Virginia,” Mom chastises. “Bribery is not a fucking solution.”
Her cheeks roast. “Sorry, Mother.” She plops down, then eyes me for comfort. I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
Mom sighs into her wine. She must feel a little guilty for being harsh because she meets our dad’s gaze for reassurance.
“Your mother is right,” Dad says calmly. “You have the means to pay your way through these barriers, but at what cost? I don’t mean monetarily. What are your morals worth, ma petite?” He’s asking Audrey.
