The dinner stretched pleasantly, full of stories, little jokes, and the occasional gentle jab at Winn that he handled with good humor.
Ivy caught herself studying him between bites of food—the way his shirt strained against his broad shoulders when he leaned forward, the way his thumb circled her thigh beneath the table whenever conversation lulled.
By dessert, even Diane, who had sworn she didn’t like Winn, seemed to be enjoying herself.
It was going fine until Winn heard Sylvia’s voice slice through the hum of Mina’s.
He stiffened, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth, and turned in his chair. The shock was impossible to mask. Of all places for her to appear, it had to be here.
Three reasons slammed through his mind at once: First, Sylvia wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near alcohol. Second, he had absolutely no intention of her meeting Ivy. Third—and most dangerous—was the unholy cocktail of Sylvia, Diane, and Joey sharing the same oxygen..
"What are you doing here, Syl?"
"Don’t look so mortified, Winn. I came to talk to Joey." She shifted her attention. "Hi, Joey."
Winn felt heat crawling up his neck. His temples throbbed. "Syl... now is not the time to embarrass me."
Across the table, Diane froze mid-sip of wine, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. She turned to Joey, her eyes flashing confusion and a dangerous curiosity. "Sylvia," she said with warning.
Ivy, poor Ivy, sat rigidly at Winn’s side.
"I just need to speak with Joey, that’s all," Sylvia said firmly, lifting her chin. "And it can’t wait."
"Joey, a minute." Sylvia’s tone brooked no argument.
Joey sighed, his face tightening, eyes darting between his wife, Winn, and Sylvia. "Sylvia, not now."
"Okay," she said brightly. "I’ll just speak here then."
"Have you been drinking?" Winn asked.
Sylvia’s eyes flashed, defensive and wounded all at once. "No."
Joey, sensing the storm building, shoved back his chair. "Fine," he muttered. He circled the table, took Sylvia by the arm, and tugged her with him. His grip was firm—too firm for mere courtesy—and the sight of it made Diane’s lips tighten into a thin line. Google seaʀᴄh novel-fire.net
As the pair disappeared toward the lobby, Diane exhaled through her nose and fixed her sharp, assessing gaze on Winn. "This," she said icily, gesturing toward the empty space Sylvia had just vacated, "is why I don’t like you."
Diane leaned in slightly. "Don’t get me wrong. You’re arrogant, yes. Overbearing, definitely. But you’re not...bad. You’ve got a good heart hidden under all that Kane bravado." She tapped her nail against the rim of her wine glass.
"I don’t like you because of her—because of your sister’s obsession with my husband. And you? You enable her. Joey indulges her. The two of you treat her like she’s some fragile Disney princess who can cry on cue and get whatever she wants." Diane’s eyes narrowed. "She’s a grown woman."
The truth of her words stung. His planned evening—the elegant dinner, Ivy’s quiet laughter, the chance to show her his world was in ruins.
"I’ll go check in," Winn muttered, pushing back from the table. He needed out of that suffocating bubble of judgment, away from Diane’s piercing glare, and away from Ivy’s confused silence. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Not one bit.
He strode through the restaurant’s archways and into the lobby. And then he heard snippets of voices.
He slowed, careful not to be noticed, and caught the tail end of their whisper-shouting.
"You cannot do this, Sylvia," Joey hissed. His hands were still gripping her arms, pinning her close, the posture more intimate than a man married to another woman should ever take with someone else. His head bent low toward hers. "My wife is right there."
"Which is why you need to tell her, tonight, that you want to be with me," Sylvia pressed.
Joey recoiled, his breath coming out harsh, strained, a man backed into a corner. "What in the world would give you that fucking idea?"
"You made love to me just a few days ago...Why would you do that if you weren’t—"Her lips parted, trembling. To her, it was proof. Proof of what she had built in her mind, the story where she was the heroine and Joey the inevitable lover.
"You fucked my sister?!" Winn’s body surged forward before his mind even caught up, eyes wild. The color drained from Joey’s face.
Joey and Sylvia spun to face him, "Winn..."
"Why...why in God’s name would you do that?" For Joey, there was no good answer. He had known Sylvia’s fragility, the thin edge she walked between stability and collapse. He had known. And yet...he had still crossed the line.
"Winn...I’m sorry." Sorry wasn’t enough.
Winn lunged forward, grabbing Sylvia’s arm, yanking her back from Joey. "We’re done here." He dragged her across the lobby.
"Who drove you here?" Winn asked as they pushed through the doors into the brisk night air.
"The weekend driver," Sylvia mumbled. The fight drained from her, leaving only a hollow shell.
"You go back home," Winn ordered. "I will see you soon, and you and I are going to have words."
Sylvia’s lips quivered, her eyes shining with more than unshed tears—this was the moment reality finally sank in. "He really isn’t going to leave her for me, is he?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Winn exhaled heavily, dragging his palms over his face. He lowered his hands and stared at his sister, every line of his face hardened by anger. "Syl...You have to wake up. You have to! Joey is married. You really want to be the one to break up another woman’s home? Is that really who you want to be remembered as?"
"I had him first," Sylvia whispered, her chin tilted up defiantly.
"And you lost him because of your poor decisions!" Winn snapped, his patience fracturing. He shook his head, fists tightening at his sides before he reached out and gripped her shoulders, grounding her.
"Sis...I love you, I really do. If love could be bought, I’d buy you the rarest of them all, wrap it up, and drop it at your feet. But Joey isn’t yours anymore. And fucking him is just plain thirst, sweetie. You know that."