Mom’s face softened momentarily. “Thank you. My youngest granddaughter created that masterpiece.”
Declan looked around the room. “Is she hiding somewhere?”
“No,” Brooke answered, too fast.
“Not anymore,” I corrected, stepping fully into the light of the entryway.
Brooke looked at me, her eyes widening in a silent, desperate plea for mercy. Declan looked back and forth between the two of us, sensing the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure.
“Family drama?” Declan asked, taking a sip of his champagne.
“Absolutely not,” Brooke lied smoothly.
“Undeniably yes,” Kyle interjected from the floor.
Brooke shot her husband a look that could have melted steel. Kyle stood up, raising his own champagne glass in a mock toast. “Do not mind me. I am currently too hypothermic and malnourished to participate in the deception.”
Declan chuckled, amused by the dysfunction. He looked at Mom. “What exactly happened?”
“Oh, it was merely a trivial misunderstanding,” Mom stammered, wringing her hands.
