He froze when he saw me sitting at the dining table, quietly eating a simple meal alone. His eyes flicked to the lilies after I lifted them from his hands and laid them on the sideboard without a word. Their sweetness filled the air, suffocating, like perfume in a sealed room.
He cleared his throat. “Yesterday, you embarrassed me in front of my colleagues. You ruined the evening. Next time, you’ll apologize to each of them, one by one.”
I lifted my gaze slowly, deliberately. Whatever he saw in my expression must have unsettled him, because for once, his words faltered.
“I apologize,” I said softly.
His brows drew together, startled.
“I apologize,” I repeated, stronger now, “that I forgot my place.”
The chair legs screeched against the floor as I rose. I walked into the kitchen, ignoring the way his eyes tracked me, and returned with another plate. Setting it across from me, I said, “You should eat.”