A Fake Heiress’s Guide to Love and Power novel Chapter 8

"Eat up, have some more," Brendan said warmly, piling another slice of roast onto her plate.

"If there's anything you're craving, just tell me," his mother added. "I'll make it for you."

Alessia nodded, quietly tucking into her meal. The easy back-and-forth around the table was a warmth she'd rarely known in her seventeen years. Maybe it was the inviting atmosphere, maybe she just couldn't refuse their kindness, but even though her appetite usually vanished in front of such a feast, she managed to finish a whole bowl of rice—which was no small feat for her.

If the eldest Tate boy ever heard of it, another round of chefs would probably be packing their knives at the Tate estate.

By the end of the meal, the awkward tension had faded. Ethan headed back to campus, while Alessia excused herself upstairs to pack her things. She didn't have much to her name, so it didn't take long.

Lying on the bed, she breathed in the fresh scent of sun-dried sheets and laundry soap. The little desk fan creaked and spun, stirring the air—no air conditioning, but it didn't feel stuffy at all.

Outside, she could hear the Mortons talking in hushed voices. Through the window drifted the muffled sounds of other families going about their lives. For someone used to the silence of gated communities, the vague commotion was oddly comforting. She remembered, vaguely, that when she was very young, she'd known this kind of life too.

Neither the Mortons' good fortune nor Tate Holdings' success had always come easy. When Alessia was little, there had been hard times too. She'd just been lucky, those years of struggle ending quickly, and she'd grown up in comfort ever since.

She didn't know why, but those almost-forgotten memories came rushing back tonight.

"Asleep?"

"Asleep."

"She must be tired. Let her rest, poor girl…"

"I noticed she liked the stir-fried pork. I'll pick up some more tomorrow."

"Good idea. How's Zachary feeling today?"

Alessia caught the sound of a sigh through the wall, then nothing more.

Their interaction was easy, unforced. Maybe it was Karen's softness, or maybe Alessia just wanted to belong, but she found herself relaxing, fitting in almost without trying.

Once everything was tidied away, Karen grabbed her shopping basket. Alessia slipped on her shoes and waited by the door.

"Will Ivan be alright on his own?" Alessia asked as they were leaving, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Ivan likes drawing by himself in his room," Karen reassured her. "The market's too crowded for him—it'd only make him anxious."

Alessia nodded, not pressing further, and instinctively took the shopping basket from Karen.

Karen paused, surprised, but then smiled softly and reached for Alessia's hand. Her fingers were slender, but Alessia could feel the faint calluses—proof of someone new to hard work, learning as she went.

Alessia wasn't usually comfortable with physical affection, but she didn't pull away. She could sense Karen relax beside her, just a little.