Grace’s POV
I shot her a grateful look as my mother’s mouth tightened.
“Grace is excellent at her job,” Hunter said firmly.
I watched Helena’s fingers tightened around her wineglass. “Darling, I’m sure Grace can defend herself. Mummy just wants her to do well in life.”
“I don’t need defending,” I said, meeting Hunter’s eyes briefly before looking away. “I like my job.”
“And she’s very good at it,” Hunter added, ignoring Helena’s sharp glance.
The tension at the table was thick enough to cut with one of the sterling silver knives beside our plates.
“Well,” Iris said, clearly trying to change the subject, “I think it’s wonderful how you’re all supporting each other through this process. It can’t be easy.”
If she only knew. There was nothing wonderful about it. Just desperation, mani
