Scout’s POV
"Do not put her on the spot, Mother."
Nixon dropped his words like heavy stones into the quiet dining room. He did not look at me, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate while his shoulder muscles bunched tight beneath his dark shirt. I stared at the side of his sharp jaw, wondering if this sudden defence was actually for my benefit, or if he was just terrified of whatever truth might spill out of my mouth.
"He is stubborn," I said.
The admission slipped out before I could check myself, my voice small but steady in the grand room. Luna Paisley paused, her soup spoon hovering halfway to her lips as her thin eyebrows drifted upward. Across the table, Nixon stopped chewing entirely, his shoulders freezing.
I leaned forward, pressing my palms against the cold edge of the mahogany
