She didn’t know what to say, and the spell was broken when Carla burst into the room.
‘Oh, Dylan!’
It seemed to her that he turned reluctantly. ‘What’s wrong?’
Carla wrung her hands, making odd noises in her throat, and Dylan’s gaze sharpened.
Mia stepped forward to take her hand. ‘What is it, Carla?’
Carla grasped her hand in a death grip. ‘Oh, Mia, there aren’t enough apologies in the world.’ Turning to Dylan, she said, ‘Uncle Andrew has just arrived.’
Her words seemed to age Dylan by ten years. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that there was no love lost between them and their uncle. He must be an utter ogre if his arrival could cause such an expression to darken Carla’s eyes. As if...as if she might be afraid of the man.
Mia glanced at the photograph that dominated the wall and then pushed her shoulders back, aching to see Carla and Dylan smiling and laughing again.
‘So...your uncle is a storm?’
Dylan’s gaze speared hers. She sent him a small smile.
‘I have a relative like that. I guess we’ll just have to weather him.’ She winked at Carla. ‘Who knows? Maybe Thierry will charm him.’
Carla choked back a laugh.
Dylan glanced at the photo and something in his shoulders unhitched. He reached out and gave Mia a one-armed hug, pressing his lips to her hair. It was friendly and affectionate, not seductive, but it heated her blood all the same.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and face the dragon.’
* * *
Over dinner Mia discovered that the elder Fairweather was everything she most feared—an intimidating authoritarian with views that were as narrow as they were strong. He was the kind of man who took his privilege for granted, but considered it his God-given duty to ensure that no one else in his family did.
Add to that the fact that Andrew Robert Fairweather was a Federal Court judge—he sent people to jail for a living—and Mia could feel her legs start to shake.
This was the person who’d replaced Carla and Dylan’s parents as role model and guardian? Her stomach rolled in a slow, sickening somersault. For all their trust fund money and fancy education, Mia didn’t envy Dylan and Carla one jot. She found her heart going out to them in sympathy.
‘It’s past time I was introduced to this man you mean to marry, Carla. As you won’t bring him to meet me, I’ve had to resort to descending on you unannounced.’
‘You’re welcome here any time, Uncle Andrew.’ Dylan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Your room is always kept ready for you.’
‘Humph!’ He fixed his gaze on Mia. ‘Who are you?’ he barked.
Three years in prison had taught Mia to hide all visual evidence of fear. It had also taught her to fly beneath the radar. ‘I’m Mia. Just a friend of Carla and Dylan’s.’
He immediately passed over her to start grilling Thierry.
Thierry, it appeared, ticked every box on the elder Fairweather’s list of what was desirable. As a self-made man in the world of finance, Thierry had power, position, and money of his own. They even knew some of the same people.
If Andrew Fairweather had expected Thierry to fawn he’d be sadly disappointed, but for the moment at least he didn’t seem to hold that against the younger man.
Their exchange took the heat off the rest of them for a good fifteen minutes. Three sets of shoulders lowered a fraction. Dylan, Carla and Mia even dared to nibble at their thin slices of smoked salmon.
It wasn’t until the entrée had been cleared away and a delicious risotto served that Fairweather Senior turned his attention back to his niece and nephew.
‘Pray tell, Carla Ann, what are you doing with the education you’ve been so fortunate to have had? Frittering it away like your brother, no doubt?’
Carla glanced at Dylan. The older man had to be joking, right?
‘Carla has no need to work for a living,’ Thierry inserted smoothly. ‘She’s in the fortunate position of being able to help others—a role she takes seriously and one I’m happy to support. Recently she’s been busy working on charitable projects, including some important conservation work. I couldn’t be more proud of her.’
Wow! Go, Thierry. Mia didn’t blame Carla in the least for the look of unabashed adoration that she sent him.
Dylan glanced at Mia and raised an eyebrow. She could only shrug in answer.
‘Well, what about you?’
His uncle fixed Dylan with a glare that made Mia quail internally. Silence stretched and she searched for something that would help ease the tension that had wrapped around the table.
She forced a forkful of food to her mouth and made an appreciative noise. ‘This meal is really lovely. I’d... I’d like to become a better cook.’
Everyone stared at her. Her stomach curdled. She loathed being the centre of attention. She grasped the lifeline Dylan had given her on a previous occasion.
‘I’ve always wanted to make veal scaloppini. I don’t suppose anyone has a good recipe for that particular dish, do they?’
It was Thierry, of all people, who answered. ‘I have a fool-proof recipe.’
Thierry cooked? She shook off her surprise. ‘Would you be willing to share it?’
‘Yes.’
Andrew Fairweather’s face darkened. ‘Dylan, I—’
‘Maybe I could make it and you could all come to dinner at my place to try it?’
Carla finally got with the programme. ‘What a lovely idea, Mia.’
From the corner of her eye Mia could see Mr Fairweather opening his mouth again, his hard gaze burning in Dylan’s direction. She set her fork down.
‘Maybe we should set a date?’
She couldn’t seem to help herself, but she had a feeling she’d say anything to halt the malice she could see sitting on the end of the older man’s tongue.
‘What about Saturday two weeks from now?’ Carla suggested.
‘I’m free.’ She had no social plans slotted into her calendar at all.
When she glanced at Dylan she found him smiling at her.
‘Sounds great. If you’re sure?’
Her stomach started to churn. She was very far from sure, but she couldn’t back out now. ‘If it’s a disaster we’ll just call out for pizza.’
She’d aimed for light, but even though both Dylan and Carla laughed it occurred to Mia then that nothing could lighten the mood around the table.
‘Back to business!’ Mr Fairweather boomed. ‘Dylan, I want to know what you’re working on at the moment.’
All her offer of dinner had done was delay the inevitable. His uncle fired question after question at Dylan—all of them designed to put him on the defensive, all of them designed to make him look small.
A frown built through her. But...why?
She glanced from Dylan to his uncle, trying to understand the animosity that crackled between them. Carla said nothing, just stared down at her plate of untouched food. Thierry met her gaze, but there was no help to be had there. His curled lip was directed at her, not at Fairweather Senior.
‘You were given all of the tools