We walk into the drawing room where Duke Remiro is seated beside his wife, Celia. Thorne, still radiating frustration, stalks in beside me. His jaw is clenched, and I can practically feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
"You better have a good reason for calling us here," Thorne says, his voice low and dangerous, almost a growl.
Duke Remiro raises an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by Thorne's outburst. "Trust me, I didn't want to do this either," he says, the amusement in his tone not lost on either of us.
We take our seats across from them. Celia stands, gracefully excusing herself to fetch tea or something—I'm not really paying attention.
"Duke Veyron is here," the Duke says solemnly.
What does that have to do with us? The question must be plastered all over my face because he continues.
"Well, you see," he starts, glancing at Celia as if to gauge her reaction, "Duke Veyron was your mother's fiancé… right before she left."
