Dahlia.
As I gulped down water, still savoring the lasagna Billie had whipped up—it was hands down the best lasagna I’d ever tasted—my husband decided to grace me with his unsolicited commentary. “I hear your social skills were... lacking at the tea party?” he quipped, his glare dripping with enough condescension to drown an unsuspecting Alpha.
Before I could even roll my eyes hard enough to cause permanent damage, Billie jumped in like the sassy savior she was. “You sent me to a table I wasn’t invited to. I would’ve been better off reading a magazine about rocks than enduring that tea party,” she snapped, translating my annoyance with Oscar-worthy flair. Honestly, I’d pay her in lasagna for life.
Still, deep down, I wished my husband would make an effort to learn sign language. But
