Mira

"You can make it up to me in my bed tonight," he says with a wink.

I grab the desk to keep from falling out of my chair.

"Don't wink at me."

"Why?"

"Because my ovaries might explode, and that would be a real shame."

He lets out a quiet laugh.

"Lena invited me."

"That sneaky little…"

I haven't even thought about introducing Elliot to my parents yet.

"She sings your praises all the time. It's cute."

Argh. How could I be mad at my sister?

"I'm not sure you're ready to meet my family."

"Please. I absolutely have to hear everything about your parents' Las Vegas wedding. Their love for Elvis runs so deep."

"Whatever you do, don't encourage them. They might pull out an old album and drown you in stories."

"According to Lena, they have a video of you putting on a ukulele concert in the living room. I'm very interested."

Mortified, I rest my forehead on my desk and raise my middle finger in his direction.

"Oh, isn't he adorable?"

My mother gushes the moment he walks through the door with a bottle of expensive wine in hand. The poor man freezes on the threshold.

"Welcome," my father says, holding out his hand.

After shaking it, Elliot greets everyone, including Elise, who looks him up and down before shrugging as if she isn't impressed by what she sees.

"You came!" Lena exclaims, nearly knocking him over as she rushes in to give him a huge hug.

Everyone stares at them. My mother's eyes shine as she clasps her hands over her heart.

My father looks at me and nods approvingly.

"I already like him better than Victor."

"Dad!" I protest.

If Elliot heard him, he pretends he didn't.

"Dinner!" my mother announces.

Elise immediately offers to help serve my father's favorite dish to everyone.

When Elliot takes the seat beside me, the dining table instantly seems smaller, as if it came out of a dollhouse.

"Have you ever tried Armenian food?"

He shakes his head.

"Are you a picky eater?"

"No, I eat everything except caviar."

"Great!" I reply with a laugh. "Prepare to be dazzled. My mother is from Europe, but she learned all the Armenian recipes my father loves."

I grab my fork and dig in. Elise makes this dish for us from time to time too, but nothing compares to my mother's cooking.

"So, Mr. Vale, do you enjoy living in Wondervale?" my father asks before taking a sip of the wine Elliot brought.

"Let's just say I like it more and more," Elliot replies, turning to me.

My face catches fire under his gaze. He squeezes my thigh before giving my father his attention again.

"And please, call me Elliot."

My mother gives him a broad smile.

"Mira told us about the project you're working on. Wanting to celebrate the park's anniversary is a lovely idea."

"It was my grandfather's wish," he says, clenching his fist on his thigh.

"A great man," my father interjects.

"Yes. I'm glad people here appreciated him."

There's a slight hesitation in his voice. I place my hand over his fist, easing his fingers apart and threading them through mine.

"Don't be so nervous," I whisper.

"Small talk isn't my thing," he answers quietly.

Seeing him this intimidated is a welcome change, given the way he acts with everyone at the office.

"Do you like Florida?" my mother asks.

"Yes… It's warm."

Everyone laughs, and the tension leaves Elliot's body.

"Chicago must be very different. We've been planning to visit for a long time," my father says.

"But we haven't taken a vacation in years," Lena finishes.

"Why?" Elliot asks, puzzled.

"Oh," she stammers, her face falling.

Oh no… Nobody wants to be the one to explain it to him.

The atmosphere in the room grows heavy. He grips my hand more tightly, as if he's afraid I'll let go.

"We can't afford to take time off," Elise says evenly.

"Oh. Right," he says, stiffening.

My mother, our savior, changes the subject and manages to get this family dinner back on track. Elliot seems more withdrawn than usual, which is saying something. I don't think my parents notice because they've only heard stories about him, but I do. I feel sick for the rest of the meal and do nothing but pick at my food.

Elliot gives me a stern look because I'm playing with the food on my plate like a child. Unlike me, he devours everything and asks for seconds, which only delights my mother even more.

As we leave the table, my father gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder before pulling him into a hug. Elliot remains stiff as a board throughout the whole exchange. If I weren't so on edge, I'd laugh.

The two of us walk hand in hand to the parking lot. Elliot opens the car door for me. I freeze, unable to get in before clearing the air.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"Why?"

"Because you were already nervous about talking to them, and then that conversation happened…"

"It's not your fault I'm a piece of shit, Mira," he replies sharply.

I wince.

"Don't talk about yourself like that."

"I thought the truth mattered to you. That's the reality: I make business decisions that affect employees' lives, for better or worse. That's how it is."

He tilts his head up toward the dark, starless sky.

"But you could change. No one is forcing you to choose one side over the other."

Elliot lets out a short, bitter laugh.

"Running a company is hard."

"So is being human."

He sighs and takes my hand again, threading our fingers together once more.

"Honestly, I don't know anything about that."

"That's okay. I'll teach you everything I know."

I flash him a broad smile as I settle into the passenger seat.

"That's exactly what scares me," he mutters.

Challenge accepted!

The dinner begins with my mother producing the ukulele video and Elliot pretending not to enjoy it. Between stories, he notices the accessibility certificate above the piano.

“Mira designed the volunteer route,” Lena tells him.

I explain how a former partner took the proposal and how the contract went elsewhere. My father’s expression changes.

“That is not what happened,” he says.

Elliot sets down his fork. “Then what did happen?”

I place the certificate on the table. “The audit proved the route worked.”

Elliot reads the signatures. “We will pull the procurement file.”

It is not a romantic promise. It is a decision that creates work for tomorrow.

My mother clears the plates while my father remains seated, his fingers resting on the certificate as if it might accuse him again.

“The procurement file will show the approval chain,” Elliot says.

“And if it shows nothing?” I ask.

“Then we document that too.”

He writes three names from memory. I recognize two from the meeting where my proposal disappeared. The third is the consultant who called the route too expensive before Victor presented the same design as his own.

My father pushes back from the table. “This is a family dinner.”

“It stopped being only that when company money paid for the work,” Elliot replies.

Tomorrow will have consequences. Tonight, at least, the evidence stays where we can find it.