She entered the room, radiant in a cream blouse and tailored beige trousers, holding a small white box in one hand and beaming like she had just won a crown.
“There you are!” she said brightly, completely oblivious to the tension. “I finally made a decision. The pistachio sponge with honeyed raspberry filling. It's perfection.”
She opened the box with a flourish, revealing two small slices on delicate china plates. “It’s light, sophisticated, and exactly the tone I want to set for the reception.”
Andrew didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, turning to face him. “Don’t you love it?”
He looked from Sophia to his mother, his jaw rigid.
“I need a moment,” he said.
“With me?” Sophia tilted her head, misreading the storm in his tone. “To go over the place cards?
