Leander

“How old are you, Sara?” Mum asks with a smile.

Sara swallows the sausage she was chewing and answers Mum, “I’m eighteen, Your Majesty.”

“No,” Mum shakes her head while chuckling. “Darling, you don’t need to use formal titles here. You’re my son’s mate. That makes you family, just like Bastian.”

I note the nervous smile on Sara’s face.

From the moment we walking into the dining room, Sara hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words to anyone.

I know being surrounded by people you don’t know can be daunting. But most will interact regardless of how nervous they might be.

Not that I would force Sara to talk when it’s clear she’s scared. Though I think it has more to do wit