Tabitha
At the end of the room, a door opens, and a man in a tailcoat and white cumberbund enters, wearing a lofty expression. The pinkish haze of his aura clings to his pompadour.
Gabriel waves a hand. “Tabitha, this is my butler, Buttons.”
Buttons the butler? Is he serious?
“Pleasure to meet you, madam,” Buttons says in a starchy British accent. He unfolds my napkin with a snap and lays it over my lap. “First course tonight is a duck consommé.”
I sit up straight and try to remember my manners as Buttons leaves the room and returns with a silver tureen.
“This is giving me serious Downton Abbey vibes,” I mutter to Gabriel.
He inclines his head but doesn’t look like he catches the reference. “Is that a good thing?”
“That remains to be seen.”
The broth Buttons ladles into a shallow
