Mom touched my wrist.
“Daphne.”
But I couldn’t watch her retreat again.
The woman rolled her eyes.
“Someone has to tell the truth.”
I stared at her.
There were a hundred things I wanted to say.
None seemed enough.
Then the kitchen doors burst open.
A man in a chef’s coat walked quickly into the dining room.
I recognized him from the restaurant website.
Alaric.
The head chef.
Apparently, the owner too.
He wasn’t smiling.
He walked straight toward our table.
Then stopped beside my mother.
His face went pale.
For several seconds, he simply stared at her.
Then he turned toward the woman who had insulted her.
“You need to leave.”
She laughed.
“Excuse me?”
“Leave. Now.”
