“Yeah,” I said.
It came out rough.
Her fingers squeezed my knee once.
Then she lifted her water glass, took a sip, and turned to my father with a smile so flawless it should’ve come with a warning label.
“Richard, I’m so sorry. My leg is starting to stiffen from the flight and the sitting. Drew promised me he’d help me walk it out before it gets bad.”
Richard looked from her to me.
He knew.
Of course he knew.
The old man didn’t miss exits. He’d spent his whole life blocking them.
“How unfortunate,” he said.
“It is,” Isa agreed sweetly. “The hamstring is very inconsiderate.”
Everett’s mouth twitched.
Beckett looked entertained. “Need assistance?”
“No,” I said.
Isa smiled at him without warmth. “Drew has me.”
I stood before anyone else could speak.
The chair scraped louder than it needed to.
Richard’s eyes moved over me once. “Don’t be long. We have guests coming back to the house later.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” I said.
Isa took my hand.
And we walked out.
Together.
I didn’t breathe right until we were in the car.
The second the doors shut, Isa leaned back against the seat and groaned.
“God. Rich people Thanksgiving is a cry for help.”
I barked out a laugh.
I couldn’t help it.
She looked over at me, pleased. “That turkey looked like it had given up before it died.”
“It was reduction.”
“It was sadness with garnish.”
