Chapter 110: Chapter 110: Dinner (2)

Philip’s expression shifted into something… weary, the look of people who’d grown up around Gregoris’s idea of ’explaining.’ “He’s not unreasonable,” Philip said. “He’s… actually a nice father.”

Rafael blinked like this was the most audacious sentence he’d ever heard in his life.

Daniel added quickly, like he could see Rafael building an entire tragic childhood theory in real time. “He’s not a tyrant. He’s normal.”

Bruno, still far too entertained, lifted a brow. “Painfully normal.”

Rafael’s gaze slid to Bruno, then drifted back to his plate. He set his spoon down painfully slow, each movement controlled like restraint was something he had to hold with both hands.

Then he turned to Gregoris.

“Then why are you like this?”

Silence.

Gregoris didn’t stop eating at first. He finished the bite he’d started, swallowed, set his fork down with care. Only then did he look at Rafael, silver eyes calm, expression so composed it bordered on insulting.

Across the table, Daniel straightened as if bracing. Philip’s shoulders tightened. Bruno’s interest sharpened, because of course it did, this was the part where someone finally said what everyone else politely avoided.

Gregoris’s voice was calm. “I’m not ’like this.’”

Rafael’s smile went thin enough to cut. “You are ignoring your father. You hid your family like they were classified. You are the one man people are afraid of before they’re afraid of Damian.” He leaned back slightly, eyes sharp, tone almost conversational in its cruelty. “At least the Emperor kills almost immediately.”

Daniel made a small, strangled sound, halfway between a cough and a prayer.

Philip stared down at his plate like the porcelain might open and swallow him.

Bruno’s mouth twitched like he’d just been handed a better course than dinner.

Gregoris didn’t react the way most men would react to that accusation. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t deny it with outrage.

He simply lifted his gaze to Rafael, silver eyes steady.

“That is not a compliment,” Gregoris said.

“It’s not meant to be,” Rafael replied, still polite, still deadly. Then his eyes narrowed, and the edge of his mouth curled. “Did you forget how you tormented me before this?”

For the first time since they sat down, Gregoris’s composure cracked into something dangerously close to amusement.

“You enjoyed it too,” Gregoris said, and, unforgivably, he grinned. “You gave me poisoned cookies.”

Daniel’s brows shot up. Philip went very still. Bruno’s eyes lit up like someone had just announced a free show.

Rafael’s glare sharpened. “Because you sent me a collar.”

Bruno made a low, fascinated sound. “A collar.”

Philip’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to laugh and failing.

Daniel looked between them as if trying to decide whether he should stop this or take notes for family counseling.

Gregoris leaned back in his chair, the grin still there, entirely too pleased with himself. “It was a gift.”

“It was an insult,” Rafael snapped.

“It was an invitation,” Gregoris corrected, maddeningly calm.

Rafael’s eyes flashed. “To what. Humiliation?”

“To honesty,” Gregoris said, and his tone softened just enough to make it worse. “To admitting you wanted me.”

Rafael opened his mouth, then closed it, because unfortunately, the man was not entirely wrong.

Across the table, Bruno rested his chin on his hand, delighted. “I’m learning so much.”

Philip muttered, “I regret coming.”

Daniel murmured, “I absolutely regret coming.”

Rafael, refusing to be outmaneuvered at his own dinner table, pointed his fork at Gregoris like it was a weapon. “You were insufferable.”

Gregoris’s eyes gleamed. “You were lethal.”

“I was defending myself.”

“You were flirting,” Gregoris said, smiling like he could still taste victory.

Rafael’s cheeks warmed in a way he would deny under oath. “I was not…”

Gregoris’s grin widened. “You absolutely were.”

Bruno leaned in slightly, silver eyes bright. “So, about the collar…”

Rafael snapped his gaze to him. “Do not.”

Bruno held up a hand, innocence that fooled no one. “I’m not judging.”

“You are absolutely judging,” Philip said dryly.

Bruno ignored him and looked back at Rafael, still entertained. “Hmm,” he said, voice smooth with mischief, “you would look amazing in it.”

The room went very quiet.

Rafael stared at Bruno with the kind of expression that usually made ministers suddenly remember urgent appointments elsewhere.

“Say that again,” Rafael said softly.

Gregoris’s hand tightened under the table on Rafael’s thigh, and his voice went flat. “Bruno.”

Bruno blinked, still smiling. “What?”

Daniel rubbed his temple. “You can’t say that.”

Bruno’s eyes flicked to Gregoris. “Why not? It’s a compliment.”

Philip’s tone turned sharply weary. “Because that’s his spouse.”

Bruno’s grin didn’t fade. “Yes. That’s why it’s a compliment.”

Rafael’s smile turned razor-thin. “Interesting.”

Gregoris finally looked at Bruno the way he looked at problems that needed to stop existing.

Bruno’s smile barely faltered.

Rafael felt Gregoris’s hand shift again, this time and realized, with a flicker of grim satisfaction, that Gregoris wasn’t just annoyed.

He was jealous.

Good.

Rafael leaned back, eyes still on Bruno, voice sweet as poison. “If you ever comment on what I would look amazing in again, I’m going to mail you a batch of my cookies.”

Philip’s head snapped up. “The poisoned ones?”

Rafael smiled. “Naturally.”

Bruno’s grin widened, delighted instead of frightened. “So that’s a Frasner rite of passage. Being fed toxins by the spouse.”

Gregoris’s gaze slid to Bruno with such calm violence that even the ether hum seemed to hesitate.

Philip went very still, like a man who’d learned to recognize the exact second Gregoris considered turning a problem into a statistic.

Daniel, to his credit, reacted before the temperature dropped any further.

“Well,” he said briskly, placing his glass down with deliberate normality, “speaking of family traditions…”

Rafael’s eyes flicked to him. Gregoris’s didn’t.

Daniel continued anyway, choosing the safest, most boring route to survival: logistics.

“Mother—Catherine,” Daniel corrected quickly for Rafael, “and Father are waiting for both of you tomorrow at dinner.”

Rafael blinked once. “Tomorrow.”

Philip nodded, a little apologetic. “They were… pretty firm about it.”

Bruno looked amused again. “Firm is Daniel’s polite word for ’they already set the table.’”

Daniel shot him a look. “Bruno.”

Bruno held up his hands. “What? It’s true. Mother has probably planned the seating arrangement and the dessert.”

Rafael’s mouth twitched despite himself. “That sounds… normal.”

“It is,” Philip said, relief creeping into his tone like this was the first reassuring thing said all evening. “Embarrassingly normal.”

Daniel nodded. “They just want to meet you properly. They felt… blindsided by the announcement.”

Rafael’s gaze slid to Gregoris.

Gregoris’s expression remained perfectly controlled, but the muscle in his jaw tightened once, subtle and telling.

Rafael’s voice was quiet. “You didn’t tell them.”

Gregoris didn’t deny it. “No.”

Daniel’s tone softened, careful. “They’re not angry, Rafael. Just… confused. A little hurt.”

Philip added, gentler, “Catherine keeps asking if Gregoris is alright. Like he’s sick and didn’t tell anyone.”

Bruno’s smile faded by a millimeter. “Father asked if he’d done something wrong.”

That one landed.

Gregoris’s gaze dropped to his plate for the briefest moment, like his eyes had decided they preferred porcelain to emotion.

Rafael watched it happen, then set his glass down carefully and said, calm but absolute, “Tomorrow, then.”

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