(Angela’s POV)
Shortly after William pulled out the chair opposite mine and sat down, I realized he truly wanted to be part of the dinner.
I pushed my chair back slowly, the legs scraping softly against the marble floor.
“I’ll go dish yours,” I said.
He gave a slight nod, his eyes following me as I stood. There was gentle patience in him tonight, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just any ordinary evening.
The butler had called in sick earlier that morning. Normally, he would have set the table, fussed over presentation, maybe even stood a few respectful paces away while we enjoyed the meal. But tonight was different. I’d made the food personally.
When I walked into the kitchen, the fragrance of the spices I'd used while cooking lingered. I grabbed a new pottery plate
