Chapter 98

Iris

I stand back, wiping my hands on my already paint-stained overalls, and tilt my head to examine the finished piece.

It’s vibrant. Alive. The central image depicts a framed dent in a kitchen wall, cracks spider-webbing outward. Yellow sunshine spills across the scene, dust motes floating in the air, and a baseball bat leans against the wall beneath the frame.

When did I start painting happiness again? Usually my work leans toward the melancholic side of things, all muted blues and grays with occasional bursts of controlled color and light.

But this… this is practically on fire. I’ve already used up one whole tube of yellow paint getting the sunbeams just right.

I check the time on my phone and realize I’ve been painting for over four hours straight, completely lost in the creative flow.

If I were analyzing someone else’s work, I’d say the artist was experiencing a significant emotional upswing. Or perhaps a manic episode.

Which, I suppose, I sort of am. For the first time in years, I’m… happy. Genuinely, unexpectedly, blissfully happy.

“Mommy?” Miles’ voice from the doorway pulls me from my thoughts. He’s standing there with a coloring book dangling from one hand. “The kitchen smells funny.”

“Funny how?” I ask, setting down my brush.

“Like that time you fell asleep during movie night and the popcorn got all black.”

My eyes widen. “The roast!”

I rush past Miles into the kitchen, where a thin haze of smoke hangs in the air. The oven is still on, and when I yank open the door, a plume of thicker smoke billows out. Coughing, I grab an oven mitt and pull out what was supposed to be tonight’s dinner.

“Shit,” I mutter, dropping the blackened roast onto the stovetop. I was so absorbed in my painting that I completely forgot about dinner. And not just any dinner—the special family dinner with Arthur’s parents that I suggested.

The dinner that’s supposed to happen in less than two hours.

“Is that what we’re eating?” Miles asks, peering around me.

“Definitely not,” I say, turning on the vent and opening a window. “Thank you for telling me about the smell, buddy. You did a really good thing. Now go pick up your toys before Grandma and Grandpa arrive, okay?”

Miles scampers off, and I stare at the burnt roast, trying not to panic. The apartment still reeks of smoke, I have no dinner, and Arthur’s parents are due to arrive soon.

I grab my phone and start scrolling through food delivery apps. There’s no time to start another roast, and I don’t have the ingredients anyway. Take-out is our only option, but it can’t be just any take-out. Not for Leonard and Wendy.

After a few minutes of frantic searching, I find a higher-end local restaurant that delivers. Their menu looks promising. It’s pricier than I’d usually spend on delivery, but this is an emergency.

I select a grilled salmon with roasted vegetables, an herb-crusted prime rib, roasted potatoes, a seasonal salad, and some fancy bread. For Miles, I add a gourmet macaroni and cheese that I know he’ll actually eat. I add some desserts for good measure, a decadent chocolate lava cake and some fruit tarts.

As I place the order, I wince at the total. There goes a chunk of my residency stipend. But it’ll be worth it if it means saving this dinner, which feels strangely important. Not just for Arthur and me, but for Miles, too. He deserves to have a relationship with his grandparents, and I want to make a good second impression after the gala.

With dinner handled, I turn my attention to the apartment. I race around opening all the windows, spraying air freshener, and setting out candles to combat the smell of burnt food. Then I shower quickly, change into a simple but nice dress, and help Miles into the outfit we picked out together—khaki pants and a button-up shirt that makes him look adorably grown-up.

“Do I have to wear this?” he asks, pulling at his collar.

“Just for tonight,” I promise, smoothing down his wild hair. Goddess, sometimes he really does look like Arthur when that one stray curl falls across his forehead. Although, for the first time in the five years of his existence, I don’t feel compelled to tame it out of sight.

The food arrives just as I’m setting the table with my nicest dishes. I quickly transfer everything from the takeout containers to serving dishes, arranging it all to look perfect. A few minutes later, the doorbell rings.

Emi, who has been stationed in the apartment hallway on alternate shifts with another security guard every day since the debut, has already let our guests in by the time I walk into the entryway.

Arthur steps in, looking handsome in a casual sweater and slacks. Behind him are Leonard and Wendy.

“Welcome,” I say, stepping aside to let them in. “Please, come in.”

Arthur gives me a quick kiss on the cheek as he enters, making my face pleasantly warm. Miles immediately attaches himself to Arthur’s leg, earning a fond smile and a ruffle of his hair.

“Miles, these are your grandparents,” Arthur says, gesturing to Leonard and Wendy. “My mother and father.”

Miles stares at the floor. “Hi.”

Wendy’s gaze immediately looks appraising, although her voice is kind as she says, “Hello, Miles. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Leonard nods curtly. “Hello, young man.”

Thankfully, neither of them mentions his refusal to meet their gazes or the way he doesn’t say another word.

I watch as they look around my temporary apartment, taking in the small living room with its secondhand furniture, the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms, the kitchen visible through the archway.

“It’s… smaller than I expected,” Wendy finally says.

“It’s temporary,” Arthur explains quickly. “Part of Iris’s art residency at Abbott Gallery.”

Leonard and Wendy exchange a glance that I can’t quite interpret, although it doesn’t seem approving.

“Would you like a tour?” I offer, hoping to move past the awkward moment. “And some wine? I have red and white.”

“Red would be lovely,” Wendy says, handing her coat to Arthur.

I pour wine for the adults and juice for Miles, then lead them through the small apartment. There’s not much to see, honestly—the living room and kitchen they’ve already glimpsed, Miles’ bedroom with its dinosaur decorations, and finally my studio.

“This is where I work,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the paint-splattered floor and the chaos of supplies. The painting I was just working on is still drying on the easel. I can hear Arthur’s breath catch quietly behind me as he takes it in.

“You’re quite… creative,” Leonard says, peering at the painting.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I just finished that one today, actually.” I glance at Arthur and add with a fond smile, “I’m going to call it ‘A Little Batty’.” Arthur snorts softly into his wine glass, his eyes sparkling as he meets my gaze.

“Very… cheerful,” Wendy comments, in a tone that suggests she doesn’t consider that a good thing.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Arthur says, looping an arm around my waist. “Your best work yet, I dare say.”

Wendy sips her wine, her eyes moving between Arthur and me. “And how long do you plan to continue with your little hobby after you become Arthur’s wife?”

The question catches me off guard. I decide not to mention the fact that Arthur and I haven’t even had a discussion about marriage just yet. That’s between us. “I don’t plan to stop. This is my career, not just a hobby.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows rise slightly. “But surely you’ll have other responsibilities. Social engagements, charity work, eventually more children… The Luna of Ordan is a full-time position. And as a human, you’ll have to work twice as hard to gain anyone’s respect.”

I feel my spine stiffen. “I believe I can balance both roles. Many women manage careers and families successfully. Even human women.”

“Of course they do,” Arthur interjects smoothly. “And Iris is extraordinarily talented. It would be a disservice to the art world if she stopped creating.”

Wendy’s mouth tightens almost imperceptibly, but she nods. “I suppose times are changing.”

I choose to let it go and instead move everyone to the dining room. As everyone takes their seats, I clear my throat.

“I should confess something,” I say. “I had a bit of a kitchen disaster earlier. I was working on that painting and completely forgot about the roast I had in the oven, so I had to call in reinforcements.” I gesture toward the kitchen. “If you’ll all excuse me for a moment…”

I duck into the kitchen and return with the serving dishes, arranging them on the table. “Tonight we have food from a local restaurant. The place had great reviews, so I thought it would be a good alternative.”

Arthur gives me an encouraging smile, but when I glance at Leonard and Wendy, they’re both staring at the food with disgust.