"I think she handles the big picture perfectly well." He kept his voice level. "In fact, if it weren't for her organizational skills and attention to detail, the festival would be a complete disaster. She's the one who's saved it."
Marigold looked up at him then, her eyes wide and vulnerable.
Daisy waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I'm sure she's very capable. But a woman needs someone to handle the more challenging aspects of life. Someone strong. Grounded. Someone who can be relied upon."
She batted her eyes at him again, her gaze appreciative. Did she even realize she was flirting with her daughter's boyfriend?
"So what else does this festival involve?" Daisy asked. "It sounds exhausting."
"It's mainly the logistics," he said. "And the opening ceremony."
"We're dancing together," Marigold said quietly.
"Oh, Mari." Daisy set down her fork with a clatter. "Dancing? In public? Are you sure that's wise?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, darling, you know you've never been very…" Daisy gestured vaguely. "Coordinated. Do you remember that recital when you were eight? The one where you tripped and knocked over three other girls like dominoes? The instructor was furious. Mrs. Pemberton—no, wait, Mrs. Patterson? Something with a P—she said you had 'two left feet and no sense of rhythm.' I've never forgotten that."
Marigold's hand tightened around his. "That was eighteen years ago."
"Well, some things don't change, do they? I just don't want you to embarrass yourself, baby. In front of the whole town. After you've worked so hard to build your little business here."
"She won't embarrass herself," he said, his voice hard.
Daisy's eyes widened. "I'm only being realistic. A mother's job is to protect her children from disappointment. Better to know your limitations than to overreach and fail publicly, don't you think?"
"She isn't going to fail. She's an excellent dancer."
"Really? That's sweet. But you haven't seen her in pressure situations. She freezes, Thallos. Always has. There was this one time, at her high school graduation?—"
"Mom, please?—"
"—they asked her to give a speech because she was valedictorian. I was so proud, but then she got up on that stage and just… stood there. Staring at everyone like a deer caught in headlights. For thirty seconds. The whole audience was squirming. I was so mortified for her."
"I was nervous?—"
"You were terrified," Daisy corrected. "And that's my point. Some people shine under pressure, and some people crumble. It's not a character flaw, sweetheart, it's just… who you are." She reached across the table and patted Marigold's arm. "I'm sure Thallos will be very understanding when you panic during the dance. Won't you, Thallos?"
The words hit like small, precise knives. He watched Marigold absorb each one, her face growing paler, her shoulders curling inward. The woman who had laughed in his arms last night, who had looked at him like he was something worth choosing, was disappearing piece by piece.
And Daisy kept going.
"Of course, Marigold's never been comfortable being the center of attention. Even as a child. She'd hide behind me at parties—which was adorable, obviously, but also rather telling. I used to worry she'd never come out of her shell. Still do, honestly."
"Marigold," he said, turning fully toward her, deliberately turning his back on Daisy, "I've been meaning to tell you how impressed I am with the vendor spreadsheet you created. The color-coding system you implemented has saved us hours of work. And your attention to the acoustics at the stage—most people wouldn't even have considered that."
A flush was creeping up Marigold's neck, but her eyes were bright. "It was nothing. Just?—"
"It was brilliant. Everyone on the committee has mentioned how much more organized we are this year compared to last." He took her hand again, this time bringing it to his lips for a brief kiss. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
Daisy made a small, dismissive sound. "Well, isn't that sweet."
The wine arrived then, and he poured them each a glass. When he looked up, Daisy was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Something assessing. Something almost… predatory.
"You know," she said, reaching across the table to touch his arm, "I've always believed that a relationship should be based on honesty. No secrets. I told Marigold that when she was a teenager, but she never listened. Kids today." Her fingers lingered, tracing the muscle beneath his shirt. "I'm so glad to see that you understand the importance of openness."
Marigold's hand tightened on his. "Mom, what are you?—"
