Chapter 71:


    Grayson mmed the fork down. Grease sttered across the white tablecloth. He red at Isolde, his eyes full of usation, as though she had engineered every moment of his humiliation.


    “I have work to do,” he muttered.


    “Sit down,” Beatricemanded.


    “No,” Grayson snapped. He turned on his heel. “I’ve lost my appetite.”


    He stormed out. The heavy door swung shut behind him.


    Seraphina rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her drink. “Well. That was festive.”


    Isolde calmly used her fork to move the bacon from Effie’s te onto a napkin.


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    “It’s okay, baby,” she said softly. “He’s gone.”


    Effie looked up at her, eyes wide and wet. “He didn’t listen.”


    “No,” Isolde agreed. “He never does.”


    Saturday dinner was a formal affair. The long mahogany table was set for twelve, as several cousins from the Greenwich branch of the family had arrived to pay their respects to Beatrice.


    Candlelight flickered across the crystal sses. Isolde wore a simple ck dress — unadorned, but perfectly fitted. She sat straight, her presencemanding in a way that seemed to irritate everyone around her.


    Seraphina, emboldened by the audience, leaned toward her cousin across the table.


    “It’s just so sad,” Seraphina said, her voice pitched to carry. “Divorce is hard enough, but to be unemployed on top of it? I heard some women simply linger around their ex-husbands because they can’t afford rent.”


    A few cousins tittered, covering their mouths with napkins. Their eyes darted toward Isolde, hungry for blood.


    Grayson sat at the head of the table, cutting his duck. He didn’t look up. He didn’t stop her. He let the humiliation unfold — a silent punishment for the breakfast debacle that morning.


    Isolde set her wine ss down. The stem clicked sharply against the coaster.


    Seraphina wasn’t done. “Isolde, dear, what are your ns? Who hires a housewife with a five-year gap? I hear McDonald’s is offeringpetitive wages.”


    Laughter rippled through the room.


    Isolde looked at Grayson. “Do you find this amusing?”


    Grayson shrugged and took a sip of red wine. “Seraphina is just joking. You need to develop a sense of humor, Isolde. You’re too uptight.”


    Isolde pushed her chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the floor, silencing the room.


    “Humor?” Isolde said, her voice perfectly steady. “I’m sorry. I seem to be allergic to bad breeding.”


    She turned to Beatrice. “Grandmother, I wish you good health. But I cannot digest this food in thispany.”


    Seraphina mmed her hand on the table. “You dare walk away? This is a family dinner!”


    Isolde looked down at her sister-inw. “Respect is earned, Seraphina. You haven’t earned mine. You aren’t even on the payroll.”


    Isolde reached down and took Effie’s hand. Effie had a ring of chocte pudding around her mouth.


    “Come on, baby. Room service.”


    “Isolde!” Grayson barked, his face darkening. “Sit down! Stop making a scene.”


    Isolde didn’t break stride. “The scene is yours, Grayson. I’m just exiting stage left.”


    She walked out of the dining room with her back straight as a steel rod.


    Behind her, the room was dead silent. Then Beatrice let out a dry, hacking chuckle.


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