Ash looks at me in confusion.
Mrs. Sullivan’s expression holds contempt. “Are you suggesting we’re old and feeble now?”
What? No. Everything feels off-balance, like we're all performing in a play but I've forgotten my lines.
“I think what Hannah means is that we have the excitement of starting our life and business. We’re ready to grab the world by the horns.”
“It’s a good way to get gored,” Mr. Sullivan says with a nod toward my bandaged arm.
I grip my water glass, desperate to steady my trembling hands. The silence stretches between courses, thick andsuffocating. Usually, I can navigate these awkward moments with easy charm, but tonight everything feels wrong.
"More wine?" I offer, my voice too high, too strained.
Mrs. Sullivan's lips curl into something between a smile and a sneer. "No, dear. Though you've barely touched yours."
Heat creeps up my neck. Of course she noticed. These people notice everything. I used to be better at directing conversations. Now I'm fumbling, missing cues, saying the wrong things.
“Is there a reason you’re not drinking?” she asks.
Oh, God. I can’t tell her I’m pregnant. Not even Ash knows that.
“Oh, wait, you’re barely eighteen, am I right? So odd, isn’t it, that you can marry so young but not drink?”
I look at Ash, feeling like I’m drowning, but he only stares at me like he’s expecting me to salvage this mess.
"The food must not be to your liking either," Mrs. Sullivan observes, eyes sharp. "You've hardly eaten."
"It's perfect," I manage. "I'm just… not feeling well."
Her eyebrow arches higher. "Oh? Nothing serious, I hope?" The concern in her voice is false, probing. Looking for weakness.
I force a smile. "Just tired. We've been so busy lately."
"Yes, I've heard you've been quite… social these past weeks. You know, it’s not wise to poke a bear, as you’ve learned." She too nods toward my bandage.
I'm losing control of this dinner, this conversation, everything.
“Are you saying you’d rather kowtow?” Ash challenges her. It’s not the right way to go about this.
“Hampton Kean has run this city for ten years. I don’t see how you have even half the ability he has to take over,” Mr. Sullivan says.
“Do you have fire alarms in your bedrooms? He might torch your house for coming here. Just like he torched mine.”
Oh, no. I need to do something.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. We understand perfectly the hold Mr. Kean has over all of us. But surely, you remember before him. Your businesses were more successful?—”
“How would you know that?” Mrs. Sullivan asks.
“I took the time to learn about you, including how Mr. Ifrinn made sure you were the go-to distributor for liquor for all restaurants. Mr. Kean, however, has demanded a greater percentage and diluted your business by setting up his own distribution.”
Both Sullivans look annoyed at being called out.
“So many families are tired of the Keans taking and taking. My husband’s family lost the most. They lost everything, and at any moment, the Keans could decide to take it from you. Surely, you know that’s true.”
“Is this how you turned the other families?” Mr. Sullivan directs his question toward Ash. “Belittle and shame them? You make your father out to be a god, but if he was so strong, how did Hampton beat him?”
I can feel the anger in Ash from across the table. His eyes narrow to slits.
