Unfortunately, the first person to reach us was my mother. “Maria, darling,” she said, as if she had casually stumbled upon me instead of hunting through the ballroom for the last ten minutes. “There you are.” She stopped beside Daniel with the kind of pleased smile that immediately made me uneasy. “And Daniel,” she added warmly. “It’s been far too long.” Daniel gave a small, polite nod. The kind that belonged in boardrooms. “Mrs. Walker.” My father appeared a second later, looking pleasantly surprised in that very practiced way he used when speaking to investors. “Well,” he said, glancing between us. “This is a pleasant sight.” Behind them, Daniel’s parents approached. Victoria Rothfield looked composed enough to frighten small countries. Charles Rothfield carried the same quiet authority Daniel did, only older, heavier with expectation. His gaze moved to me. “Maria Walker,” he said. “You’ve grown up.” “That tends to happen,” I said. The words slipped out before I could
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