I couldn’t blame her.
Caroline sat slumped at the long breakfast table, hair in a loose, chaotic bun that was definitely not Instagram-worthy. She held a mug of coffee with both hands like she was summoning spiritual strength from it.
James was beside her in a black T-shirt and dark sunglasses, looking like a man who had survived battle. He was staring down at his plate of scrambled eggs with awe.
“This is the best food I’ve ever eaten,” he said, voice hoarse.
“You said that about a bread roll last night,” Caroline murmured.
“And I meant it.”
A few seats down, Sophie sipped peppermint tea like it was oxygen. She gave me a tiny, fragile smile before returning her gaze to the table. Her colour was off. Her eyes were puffy. And she kept smoothing her robe as if holding her own body together.
Emma was… disgustingly fine.
Immaculate activewear, dewy skin, hair in a perfect ponytail, and a bowl of chia pudding that she was pretending to enjoy.
“I’m not hungover,” she announced, as if anyone had accused her. “I’m just slightly… dehydrated.”
Cleo snickered beside me.
Across from them, Noah seemed in okay shape for a man who definitely drank an irresponsible amount of whiskey.
Although I did notice that every time someone dropped a piece of cutlery, and it happened often, he flinched.
I found it unfair how good he managed to look while clearly fighting for his life.
On the smaller table near the window sat the parents, entirely too pleased with the pain around them.
Elaine Quinn sipped her tea serenely. Margaret Harrington nibbled toast with the enthusiasm of a judge critiquing technique.
Richard Harrington had his nose in the morning paper as usual, while Lady Beaumont observed the room with the calm satisfaction of someone who felt morally superior.
As we approached the table to check on everyone, the flashbacks began.
“Did… did I challenge the chef to karaoke?” Cleo whispered to me.
“Yes.”
“Crap.”
James muttered into his coffee, “I have a vague memory of Lucas dancing on a wine barrel?”
“He did,” I confirmed.
“He fell?”
I hesitated. “Not off the barrel.”
Caroline groaned. “Oh god.”
“And someone…” Cleo surveyed the room like a spy assessing threats, “someone convinced Lady Beaumont to take a tequila shot.”
Emma raised a hand. “That was me.”
Lady Beaumont did not deny it. She simply sipped her tea and said, “Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I’m dead.”
Cleo buried her face in her clipboard to hide her grin.
