“Yes,” she agreed softly, her mouth going dry. “Of course.”
Lorraine reached them first.
“Titus,” she said coolly, as everything from the last decade settled between them. “I was hoping we’d have a moment.”
Titus inclined his head. Polite. Guarded. “Mother.”
Elias smiled, genial as ever. “You should have said you’d be here tonight,” he added. “We might have arranged to come together.”
His father had always dreamed of them as a real family. Titus didn’t have the heart to tell him those days were long gone.
Lorraine’s gaze slid—not to Titus, but past him.
To the man standing close enough that there was no mistaking the alignment.
“And you must be…” Her eyes sharpened.
“Reid Kensington,” Viper confirmed.
No title. No qualifier.
Lorraine studied him openly now before flicking her gaze back to her son. “If you’re going to be in the city,” she said lightly,“I’ll need you to stop by the house, Titus. There are matters we should discuss.”
Titus stiffened.
Not visibly—but he knew Viper felt it by the way the man’s palm settled at the small of his back. Grounding. Claiming. A quiet anchor.
“He’ll be too busy,” Viper said, and Titus bit back a smile.
He couldn’t remember anyone ever sticking up for him. Nor could he recall anyone ever facing down Lorraine.
Viper’s voice was smooth as smoke. Pleasant. Final.
Lorraine’s attention snapped fully back to him.
“Busy?” she echoed.
“Yes,” Viper said. His eyes never left hers. “The most he can do is dinner.”
Titus didn’t interrupt. He let Viper handle it—watched, alert, as his mother reached for words and, for once, came up empty. He’d never seen that before.
There was a pause.
Not long.
Just long enough.
Lorraine’s lips parted as if to respond—then closed again. Whatever she’d intended recalculated mid-thought. Her throat bobbed once as she swallowed.
Titus almost laughed. He schooled his face, kept his expression neutral, even as something loosened in his chest.
Viper shifted his hand, fingers threading deliberately with his.
He lifted Titus’s hand between them.
And kissed the ring on his finger.
Titus’s pulse jumped—then settled into a steady, grounding thrum.
