“You were six?”
She smiled gently.
“Your dad was.”
“Did he have the same name?”
I answered.
“Roman, yes.”
“Did Grandma know what you liked?”
“Not everything at first.”
Vivian laughed softly.
“He wouldn’t tell me he hated boiled carrots.”
I looked at her.
“I thought you liked making them.”
“I preferred knowing what my child could eat without looking betrayed.”
Theo laughed.
It was brief.
Real.
The room became easier for him for a moment.
After the main course, he asked whether we could go upstairs.
I said yes.
Not after dessert.
Not once the adults had finished an explanation.
Now.
My mother offered to stay with the guests.
Theo asked if she would come later.
“Of course.”
I stood.
Camilla moved her chair.
“Roman, a moment.”
“Later.”
“We need to resolve this.”
I looked at my son.
He had become still again.
“You don’t get to make him wait while we decide whether he belongs.”
“I never said—”
“Later.”
We left the dining room.
In the hallway, Theo stopped beside a narrow console.
There was a bowl of keys on it.
A vase.
A stack of invitations.
He stared at the invitations.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
I waited.
He pulled at one jacket cuff.
“Am I still in the wedding?”
I looked at him.
“What were you told?”
“She said I could help.”
