Arm in arm, Grace and I stroll back to our table. As she sees us coming, Irene smirks, pointedly turning away to mutter something to her husband. He shrugs, ignoring her.
My Master watches as we approach, frowning as a camera flashes at me, but I merely smile, nod, then sashay back to my waiting husband.
Brow creased, he stands, pulling out my seat for me. As he slides it back under me, he stoops, his voice low by my ear. “Elizabeth…?”
“I’m fine.” I paste on a Bring-em-On smile. “It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. I’m ready for her now.”
Bring-em-OnSitting beside me, he eyes me surreptitiously but, apparently satisfied that I’m telling the truth, he settles.
On the stage, the compère rattles through the vapid banalities they do on these occasions.
“… And many thanks to our s
