Dinner with Edward felt like stepping into something familiar. The kind of evening that pretended things hadn't shifted beneath the surface. The table was already set when we arrived—cloth napkins, wine glasses, that same soft jazz playing from the speakers in the corner of the dining room. It could've been any other night.
Edward smiled when he saw us. "You two look like you just got back from a honeymoon, not a corporate retreat."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled out my chair. "Don't encourage her. She'll start telling people we eloped in Tahoe."
"I've heard worse stories," Edward said, settling into his seat. His voice was light, but I caught the brief pause before he sat, the way his hand braced against the table just a little longer than it should've.
