“Would anyone care for some eggnog?” Giovanni announced.
Dinner had settled into a comfortable rhythm—clinking cutlery, low conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from the kids as they volleyed stories with Damien and Amelia. Loretta had just placed the last dessert on the table, and Giovanni had just topped off his wine with practiced elegance before the two of them quietly excused themselves, slipping into the kitchen with whispered promises and matching smiles.
They were gone for several minutes.
When they returned, Loretta’s cheeks were flushed in a way that had nothing to do with wine. She smoothed her dress with one hand, the other fluttering to her hair in a gesture too casual to be natural, and slid back into her seat with a composed smile—save for the small curve of
