“Oh, Julian, surely there’s been some misunderstanding.
Claire likes helping.
She’s always been more comfortable in the kitchen.”
She reached toward my arm.
Julian caught her wrist before she could touch me.
“Do not touch her.”
His voice remained quiet.
Somehow, that made it worse.
Margaret stepped backward.
My father hurried forward.
“Mr. Mercer, please.
Come into the dining room.
We’ll have a drink and explain everything.
Claire is our daughter, of course, but she enjoys helping.”
Julian looked at me.
Then he reached behind my waist and loosened the apron.
He pulled it away, revealing the simple fitted black dress underneath.
Without saying a word, he tossed the stained apron onto the dining table.
It landed across the turkey.
Natalie made a horrified noise.
Julian turned toward my father.
“My fiancée does not serve people who treat her as hired help.
You invited Claire to Thanksgiving.
Find her a chair.”
Thomas swallowed.
“Of course.”
Julian guided me into the dining room with one hand resting lightly against my back.
Then he walked straight to the head of the table.
My father’s chair.
He pulled it out for me.
I hesitated.
