“Attention, guests,” comes a calm female voice over the speaker system. “Dinner is ready to be served. Please proceed into the dining room.”
Angela lifts her martini glass in my direction. “See you in there.”
I guess we can’t enter together. I suppose it makes sense, though it does sting. The guest of the hour probably shouldn’t be seen hanging around the Nanny.
“It’s fine,” I says, lifting Mia. “We’re going to have our own fun, yeah?”
Mia babbles in what I assume is agreement.
Settling her back onto my hip, I walk us into the dining room. A long table has been arranged, with placards marking everyone’s position. I search up and down the table but don’t see my name. There’s also no highchair for Mia.
That seems like a pretty big oversight.
Likely not a coincidence.
One of the brown
