The candles had burned low by the time dessert arrived. A perfect chocolate soufflé with a thin dusting of powdered sugar, served on porcelain plates that looked too delicate to touch. The wine had made everyone softer, but not kinder. Politeness had settled into the room like a heavy perfume—too sweet, too strong, masking everything real beneath it.
Richard leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his Bordeaux.
“So, Claire,” he began, his tone casual but calculated. “You’ve been freelancing for what, a few years now?”
“Almost eight,” I replied evenly.
He nodded slowly—the kind of nod people use when they’re already preparing their next question.
“That’s impressive. Though I imagine freelance work must have its ups and downs. Feast and famine, as they say.”
“Sometimes,” I said, setting my fork down neatly. “But I’ve learned to manage the tides.”
Eleanor smiled faintly. “A poetic way of saying unpredictable, I suppose.”
Richard chuckled. “You have a good head on your shoulders, clearly. But if you’ll forgive me for asking… what’s the long-term plan? Where do you see yourself in, say, ten years?”
I tilted my head. “Ten years.”
“Yes. Career progression, financial stability, insurance, retirement savings—all those boring things you young creatives forget about.”
“Oh, I don’t forget,” I smiled, keeping my tone light. “I just prefer to invest in things that grow rather than things that sit.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Such as?”
“People. Projects. Ideas.”
He leaned back, lips curling slightly. “Interesting. Though ideas don’t exactly pay the bills, do they?”
I met his gaze calmly. “Only if they’re bad ones.”
For a heartbeat, silence filled the space between us. Then Eleanor laughed—a smooth, practiced sound that landed softly but not kindly.
“How delightful. I can see why Daniel likes you. You’ve got spirit.”
I smiled. “Some would call it survival instinct.”
Daniel’s fork clinked quietly against his plate. He hadn’t said much all evening. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his shoulders tight, his eyes darting between me and his parents like a man watching two worlds edge closer than he wanted them to.
Eleanor dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin.