Ethan
PR has the private dining room staged by 11:45AM with white tablecloth, neutral florals, two cameras on tripods, and one roaming shooter mother trusts because he knows when not to press the shutter. I skim the luncheon brief on my tablet; talking points, photo beats, the order in which hands will be shaken and by whom.
'You don't owe a performance,' Blake says, level as always.
'I owe a clean run-of-show,' I answer, and pocket the device.
Alpha James and Luna Janet arrive first, easy posture and eyes that miss nothing. Lizzy follows in a tailored blue dress that reads competent at twenty paces and photogenic at five. Mother meets them halfway, perfect smile, sleeves rolled to her forearms like she's here to work, which she is. Father appears last, a half-step later than
