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“Absolutely.”

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

“Explain it.”

Before I can, the doors open. Two servers enter carrying covered plates.

Oh.

Fancy.

One is placed in front of each of us. The young woman serving Grimm lowers his plate and reaches for the silver cover.

“I hope everything is to your liking, Your Highness.”

Your what now?

The server freezes.

Her eyes widen.

Grimm's head turns toward her.

Slowly.

“It's fine,” he says.

Two words.

Quiet.

Firm.

And apparently enough to make the poor woman's face lose all its color.

“My apologies, Mr. Palermo.”

She practically curtsies.

Actually—was that a curtsy?

Before I can decide, Grimm gives her a small nod.

“Thank you. That will be all.”

The servers move with impressive speed after that. The doors close behind them.

I stare at Grimm. He reaches for his wine.

Wulfy suddenly finds his napkin fascinating. Dora is very deliberately not looking at me.

Oh, no.

Nope.

We are not skipping over that.

“Did she just call you⁠—”