I nodded and smiled right along with her. "You're absolutely right. That kind of stupid deserves exactly what it gets."
Dante let out a scoff. He wasn't even pretending anymore. He strode onto the stage and picked up the microphone, and the room quieted the way rooms do when someone steps into a space they haven't earned — not with silence born of respect, but with the morbid curiosity of people watching a man walk toward something he doesn't see coming.
"Ladies and gentlemen, today is my daughter's birthday, but I have something deeply painful to announce."
I stood below the stage, watching at my leisure as he squeezed out two pathetic tears. My father's signet ring sat heavy on my right hand. I turned it slowly.
The guests took the bait. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, one voice after another pressing him to go on.
Only then did he deliver his grand finale, face twisted with rehearsed anguish.