REBECCA’S POV
I waited until nine exactly.
I picked up my glass and moved to the center of the room, and the gathering quieted the way gatherings do when a host moves with intention, not all at once, but in a wave that starts closest to her and moves outward as people register that something is about to happen.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I said.
My voice carried the way it always carried in this room, warm, unhurried, pitched for intimacy rather than volume. I looked around at the faces turned toward me. Gerald, fond and attentive. Geoffrey, pleasant and unreadable. Peter beside him, glass already lifting in anticipation. Claire near the back, her stillness dressed up as casual interest. Rose at the window, composed and waiting. Edmund near the center, his glass raised,
