Elaine's POV
"This is a dinner," he says. "Not a battlefield."
I look past him. Suits. Dresses. Smiles that don't reach the eyes.
"Funny," I reply. "Everyone looks armed."
His mouth curves, just barely. Not a smile. Something close
Before he can say anything back, a clear, sharp sound cuts through the room.
Clink. Clink.
A spoon against glass.
The noise ripples outward, conversations tapering off in uneven waves until the hall settles into something quieter.
I don't need to turn to know who it is.
My grandfather has always had a way of commanding a room without raising his voice.
"May I have your attention," he says. Like he doesn't have it already.
Zane's gaze flicks past me, toward the head of the room. His jaw tightens a fraction, like he already knows what's coming.
I step half a pace away from him, instinct more than intention, and turn.
