Sonia’s POV
Breakfast the next morning was chaos.
The kind of chaos that pretends to be casual but hums with too much laughter, too much meaning, and too many sideways glances.
Molly was pouring orange juice like she was in a commercial, Clara was scrolling through her phone pretending not to grin, and Lewis, dear, infuriating Lewis, was humming something suspiciously close to the Bridal Chorus.
I could barely look at any of them.
Alexander sat opposite me at the long, sunlit table, pretending to read the newspaper. The quiet between us was deafening, like every word we hadn’t said was sitting in the air, vibrating.
“Pass the syrup, Sonia,” Molly said, in that syrupy tone of her own.
I handed it to her without looking up.
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, “and tell me, do you usually
