“Inquiring minds can fuck off, Dan,” I said tightly, not looking at him.
He leaned closer. His breath tickled my ear. “Come on, now, Sue. He’s not here with you, and we all know it. You’re broke, so you must have rented that dress and got some kid to do your makeup. But how much did that prince cost you?”
“You.” Donovan’s low, cold voice cut through the conversation like a hot knife through butter. “Weather boy.”
Dan tried not to flinch but failed badly.
“You are too close to the Chosen. Move away.”
Dan froze. I could almost feel his ignorant bravado doing battle with the sudden heavy atmosphere of danger that had seeped through the room. The table fell silent.
“Now,” Donovan growled.
Dan went pale underneath his orange fake tan. He took his arm off the back of my chair, leaning away, and plastered a shit-eating grin on his face. “I meant no offense,” he said, holding up his hands. “Me and Susan are old friends, Your Highness.” He was trying to act casual, but his voice shook. “I guess in the States, we’re a little more casual with our friendships.”
Donovan glared at him for a few more seconds, then, maintaining eye contact, he scooped up Juliette’s bruschetta. “And in my country, I would slit a man’s throat if he dared put his lips so close to the Chosen.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“I love how you pronounce her name,” one of the Saxbys tittered, trying to break the tension. “Susan. Chosen. Hee hee. Foreign languages are so crazy.”
“No slitting throats at the table, please, Your Highness,” Professor Owen called down the table.
“I make no promises.” Donovan coldly ate Juliette’s bruschetta.
Dan shifted his chair a foot away from me, now practically sitting in one of the Saxby twins’ laps.
With effort, I turned to the silent Ming next to me, staring down at her untouched plate. “I hear congratulations are in order,” I said warmly, forcing a smile. Gladioli moved in on my left, whipped Ming’s bruschetta plate away, put it in front of Donovan, then placed a perfect square of her wagyu and roast cherry tomato lasagna in front of her. The poor girl stared at it, not moving. She looked miserable.
“Oh. Yes,” she answered me in a tiny voice. “Thank you. I am well, and the baby is healthy.”
“Baby?”
Montgomery’s horsey face leaned over on her other side. “Ming just had our first,” he declared. “Finally, I have an heir.”
“I thought you already had kids, Monty,” Juliette said. She shot me a nasty grin. “Some of us are lucky to be prolific life-bringers like that.”
“I’ve only got girls so far, Jules,” he replied, no hint of embarrassment in his voice. “This is my first boy,” he said proudly. He leaned over and squeezed Ming’s thigh so hard she flinched. “I’m so happy.”
“Of course you are. Because girls are worthless, right?” I said, holding eye contact with Montgomery. “I’m sure your daughterslovehearing that.”
He shrugged. “I don’t see them often, if I’m being honest, Sue. They stay with their moms most of the time.”
“Oh. So, you’re a deadbeat dad,” I said sadly. “I understand.”
He blustered for a second. “I pay them good money?—”
“Oh, so you only support themfinancially?You’re not actually there for them, though, right? You don’t support them emotionally, or mentally, or physically, or spiritually, or socially, or in any other way that matters?”
“I pay thema lot,” he hissed. “That’s all that matters.”
“Put some extra aside for therapy, Monty. They’re going to need it.” I turned to Ming. “Congratulations,” I said to her. “How old is your baby?”
“A week,” she whispered.
My mouth dropped open. “A week? You gave birth a week ago?”
Montgomery gave a braying laugh. “She looks amazing, doesn’t she? We wanted her to get her figure back as soon as possible.”
