Eve’s POV
The restaurant was unusually quiet that morning.
No laughter, no clinking of spoons. Just the soft, rhythmic thud of knives meeting chopping boards and the muted hum of the refrigerator.
Eve stood in the kitchen with her apron tied loosely around her waist, her palms pressed flat against the cool marble counter. The air smelled of herbs and citrus and faint nervousness.
Kamila’s voice floated from the doorway.
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to this, hija?”
Eve straightened, forcing a smile. “Of course, Mama. I’m fine.”
Kamila frowned. “You’ve been pale all morning.”
“It’s just the medication,” Eve said quickly. “My doctor said it’ll pass.”
Kamila’s eyes softened, but concern lingered. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard. This dinner is important, yes, but not more tha
