The dining room was bathed in the soft glow of the chandelier. The long mahogany table was set with the good china, the silverware polished to a mirror shine. It was a formal setup, a clear message that the Barron family took Angelena's return seriously.
Prescott Barron stood as she entered. He was a man of few words, but his embrace was warm and solid. "Welcome home, Angie."
Averi, Dalton's younger sister, practically launched herself at Angelena. "Oh my god, I missed you! Tell me everything about Paris. Did you meet any hot French guys?"
Angelena laughed, letting herself be pulled to the table. "Maybe later, Averi."
She took her seat, and Dalton sat down beside her. The meal began with light conversation, the clinking of silverware filling the gaps. Angelena answered questions about her travels, her voice steady and relaxed.
She was reaching for the breadbasket when Dalton's hand moved. He smoothly slid the basket past her, picking up a roll and placing it on her plate. At the same time, he shifted the dish of pecan-crusted asparagus-a favorite of his father's, but a potentially fatal one for her-away from her side of the table.
It was done so naturally, so fluidly, that the others didn't even notice. But Angelena did. She was severely allergic to tree nuts. Dalton had remembered, and he had protected her without making a scene.
A warm flush spread through her chest. She murmured a quiet, "Thank you."
He just nodded, continuing to eat his steak.
As the main course was cleared, a subtle shift occurred in the room. The conversation flowed, but there was a giant, elephant-sized hole in it. Nobody mentioned Gorden.
It was as if the younger Barron son had ceased to exist. Prescott and Cordella exchanged careful glances, watching Angelena's face for any sign of distress. They were waiting for the flinch, the tear, the forced smile.
But Angelena was busy describing the differences between French and American butter. She talked about the rent prices in SoHo, the difficulty of finding a good wholesale flour supplier in Manhattan. She was animated, engaged, and completely unbothered.
Prescott finally broke. He set his fork down, his brow furrowed with concern. "Angie, what are your long-term plans? Are you going to join Barlow Group?"
It was a polite way of asking: Are you staying in New York? Because if you are, you will run into him.
Angelena set her silverware down neatly. "I'm not going back to the family company. I'm opening a bakery in SoHo."
Silence. Complete, utter silence.
Averi's jaw dropped. Prescott blinked. Cordella paused with her wine glass halfway to her lips.
A bakery. The heiress to the Barlow fortune wanted to bake bread.
Dalton, however, wasn't looking at her like she was crazy. He was looking at the light in her eyes. It was the same light he saw in the mirror when he talked about a successful surgery. It was passion.
"That sounds like a lot of hard work," Dalton said, his voice cutting through the silence. "But I think it suits you."
Angelena turned to him, her smile grateful.
The dinner ended on a strange note. The Barron family was happy she was back, but they were also deeply confused. The silence regarding Gorden was louder than any screaming match could have been. It wasn't avoidance; it was annihilation. She had erased him from her universe entirely.
