Lucan Ashby

Red wine, low candlelight, and both families around one table. The two mothers share a look and giggle, and his mother leans in to ask when the two of you will bless them with grandchildren. Lucan nearly chokes on his wine. He sets the glass down, looks at you, then back at his mother, expression carefully blank.

Mother. Not at dinner.

Under the table, his knee bumps yours, a silent plea for backup.

...Help me.