Hazel stared at the long, polished dining table like it was her execution stage.
"Tell me again," she hissed at Lucas, "why do I have to go to this dinner?"
Lucas adjusted his tie. "It's your mother-in-law's monthly family dinner."
"Right. And remind me what the old Erin used to do at these things?"
"Start fights. Break wine glasses. Threaten to move to Switzerland."
Hazel groaned.
⸻
Ten minutes later, she stood in the dining room of the Blake family estate.
Everything smelled like expensive candles and judgment.
Adrian sat silently on her right.
To her left sat… The Dragon Queen.
Okay, technically, she was Madam Margaret Blake, the family matriarch. But the nickname fit.
Elegant gray bun. Diamond earrings. Eyes sharp enough to pierce steel. Her presence made Hazel want to sit straighter, breathe quieter, and shrink into a walnut.
"Erin," Madam Blake said with a tone that could freeze lava.
Hazel jumped. "Yes, ma'am?"
"You're wearing sneakers."
Hazel looked down.
She was. Gucci ones. Sparkly, stylish… and 100% inappropriate.
"I was going for… casual glam?" she tried.
Margaret's lips thinned.
Strike one.
⸻
The appetizers arrived: quail egg salad with truffle foam.
Hazel blinked. "What's a quail egg?"
Adrian's brother choked on his wine.
Margaret inhaled sharply. "Erin, surely you know—"
"Oh, wait, wait!" Hazel interrupted. "I do know. Tiny eggs. Fancy chickens."
Silence.
Strike two.
⸻
Then came the main course: rosemary lamb with saffron mash.
Hazel accidentally called the lamb "Bambi's cousin" and asked for ketchup.
Margaret looked personally offended.
Strike three. And four. And five.
⸻
By dessert, Hazel was sweating bullets.
She tried to play it cool by pretending to know which spoon to use.
She picked up the wrong one.
Twice.
Then dropped it.
It clattered against the china like a gunshot.
Everyone flinched.
She smiled weakly. "Oops?"
Adrian finally spoke.
Well, almost.
He reached forward silently, picked up her spoon, and handed her the right one.
Their fingers brushed.
She looked at him. He didn't meet her eyes.
But under the table, she felt it—his hand gently covering hers.
Reassuring. Protective. Quiet.
Her heart jumped.
⸻
After dinner, Margaret pulled Adrian aside.
Hazel, of course, eavesdropped from behind a curtain like any self-respecting reborn heiress would.
"She's different," Margaret said, voice low but cutting. "Too cheerful. Too foolish. She's making a mockery of our name."
Hazel bit her lip.
Adrian was silent.
Then—
"I like her this way," he said.
Hazel's breath caught.
Margaret sniffed. "You would."
And walked away.
⸻
Back in the car, Hazel stared out the window.
Adrian sat beside her, silent as always.
She finally spoke. "Thanks. For not letting your mom stab me with her salad fork."
He didn't react.
She turned to him.
"I was awful, wasn't I?"
He blinked once.
She sighed. "Next time, I'll study napkin folding, wine swirling, and rich people etiquette like I'm cramming for college entrance exams."
Still nothing.
But as the car slowed, he handed her something.
A napkin. Folded perfectly into a swan.
She stared at it.
"You made this?"
A tiny nod.
She smiled.
And maybe… just maybe… she'd survive the next dinner with the Dragon Queen.