That specific phrasing ignited a spark in my chest. “A misunderstanding,” I said loudly, commanding the room’s attention, “is when two parties arrive at the wrong Italian restaurant for a dinner reservation.”
Mom looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Rupert, please.”
I ignored her. I looked at the internet visionary. children were explicitly instructed to wait outside in the cab of my pickup truck during a family birthday dinner because Brooke’s twins found their presence emotionally taxing.”
The amusement vanished from Declan’s face. He lowered his champagne glass. “Are you serious?”
Brooke lunged forward, inserting herself between Declan and me. “It was a complex issue regarding interpersonal boundaries, Declan. You know how children’s energies can clash.”
“It was thirty degrees outside, Brooke,” I stated flatly.
Declan looked around the freezing, breath-fogged living room, then looked at Brooke’s thermal leggings, and settled his gaze on me.
