Yes. Any second now. She should be . . .
But her knee went jittery next to his. And when he looked over, she had her eyes firmly planted on the tablecloth.
Clark didn’t understand. After all those times she’d told him off, defended her family and her craft, why would she sit there now and bite her tongue about what she did?
Then, something came loose in his chest, some vital part. Riley biting her tongue, he realized, was a choice. An offering. For what he’d done for her last night. As if anything on Earth could have kept him away.
“Well?” His dad looked between them, nonplussed but still jovial. “Have you heard anything about it?”
Clark could sit back, do nothing. They could move on, end the evening on a high note. Lord knew he had enough experience disappointing both Riley and his dad.
Except. Even if Riley could reconcile letting this moment pass unacknowledged, Clark couldn’t. Couldn’t stand her having to hide, to make herself smaller, for anyone.
She sat there bracing herself, expecting no support, no defense—nothing from Clark. She hadn’t even bothered glancing at him—that settled it.
“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” he said before he had a chance to overthink it. “Surely you’ve heard of Arden’s curse? There have been accounts of mysterious malevolent activity on the grounds going back several centuries.”
“Don’t tell me you’re caught up in this, Clark?” The temperature in the room fell several degrees as his father stared at him. “I raised you to know better than to believe in that kind of foolish deception.”
“You raised me to be a researcher.” Had fed him and Patrick both on a strict diet of logic. Built their household at the altar of science. “And I’m telling you there’s something more than the power of suggestion going on at that castle. A curse is at least a viable theory.”
Riley raised her head, caught his eye like, Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
His father didn’t notice, focused solely on his son as his cheeks hollowed with anger.
Clark never contradicted him. Not as his son. Not as a scientist.
“Rumors like this, of supernatural forces, they’re toxic.” Alfie kept his voice low, controlled, but on the chair back, his hand curled into a fist. “You’ll forgive me if I prefer to put stock in fact rather than fearmongering.”
“But you’re an archaeologist. You know fact is nothing but our best approximation of the truth.” He’d expected pushback, but to ignore even the possibility . . . “The world is flat. Earth is the center of the universe. An atom is the smallest building block of matter. If history has taught us anything, it’s how often we get it wrong.”
Clark found, to his surprise, that he wasn’t just arguing for Riley’s benefit. He believed the words coming out of his mouth. An argument crafted just as much for himself, two weeks ago, as it was for his father now.
“You believe that a place can be sacred, right?”
“I do.” His dad had worked on enough temples, enough tombs. “For a specific group of people.”
“Well, those places, they’re the epicenter of powerful emotions, existing together in a single space, year over year, and they leave behind a certain energy. We can’t name that feeling, that power, but we still recognize it exists.”
His father’s nostrils flared. “I can’t believe this. I’m telling you that there’s a person preying on the ignorance of rural villagers, hawking services they can’t possibly deliver—and you’re saying you believe curses have some logical explanation?”
Under the table, Clark gripped his chair seat. Losing his dad’s approval so soon after earning it felt like a car crash in which he was somehow both driver and spectator. But he refused to let Riley sit there and listen to someone else’s father spew the same ignorance as her own.
“I’m saying that much of the universe is unknowable.”
Riley put her hand over her mouth, whispered, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Part of Clark did want to drop it then. See if maybe they could steer things back into a pleasant, placid direction over a round of digestifs. He could salvage the situation, have his dad go back to smiling at him.
In the end, he didn’t get to choose. Alfie had to have the last word.
“You listen to me.” He pointed at Clark. “If you run into that curse breaker, let him know I think he’s a dirty crook.”
“You know what.” Riley got to her feet. “He doesn’t have to. Because it’s me.” She did a little wave. “Hi, I’m the curse breaker.”
That drew his father up short. “I thought you were a bartender?”
“I’m both.” She smiled tightly. “It’s sort of a hyphenate situation.”
He turned to Clark, mouth twisting with distaste. “So that’s why you’ve bought into this thing. For a bird.”
Ah, yes. Here was his father’s signature brand of takedown.
Only, Clark wasn’t a boy anymore.
“Actually, no,” he said. “It simply seems to me like spectacular arrogance to assume that anything I can’t prove is impossible.”
Color rose in his father’s cheeks. “Are you calling me arrogant?”
“Clark,” Riley said. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”
But this wasn’t just for her benefit anymore.
He held his father’s glare. “Yes, sir.”
Alfie took out his wallet, threw a tenner down on the table.
“I should have realized.” He laughed, the sound hollow. “You’ve always been easily led.”
Riley sucked in a breath.
Two birds. One stone. Clark had to hand it to him.
His father managed to take every major mistake he’d ever made and sum them up in one neat, biting remark while simultaneously insulting Riley’s integrity.
After the door to the tasting room slammed, they sat in silence for seconds that seemed infinite.
Well. He’d been close to getting his father’s acceptance there for a minute. That was something.
“You okay?” Riley pulled her chair back out, folding herself down neatly and crossing her arms.
“Sterling.” Clark drained the dregs from his glass before propping his elbows on the table and lowering his head into his hands.
“He thinks he knows you, but he doesn’t.” Her voice was low, gentle. “It’s not weakness. The way you trust people.”
Clark looked up, folded his hands together, at a loss. “How can you say that after what just happened?”
It was like a bad play. How many times was he going to appeal to his father for acceptance, affection, before he realized Alfie wasn’t capable of it?
“You know what he’s like.” Riley stared at the door his father had stormed out of. “You knew the risk in standing up to him. But you were giving him a chance. To be better.”
She turned to Clark. “It wasn’t an accident or oversight.” Like everything about her, the words were clear, definitive. “You’re braver than he is.”
Clark swallowed, sat there, tried to make himself hear it. “I don’t know what’s more disconcerting, when you’re cruel to me or when you’re kind.”