I looked down the long table at the sixteen other people who were currently enjoying a lavish spread of rosemary chicken and glazed root vegetables. My brother Justin was busy adjusting his napkin while my mother leaned back and toyed with her silk scarf.
Sienna slowly lowered her wine glass and left a faint pink smudge on the crystal rim. “Maverick, please do not be so dramatic while we are trying to eat our dinner,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Her tone did not carry any hint of a reprimand for the cruelty her son had just displayed toward his own aunt. It sounded more like she was telling him not to play with his food or to sit up straight.
Maverick frowned and crossed his arms over his chest while he stood over the empty space where my chair had been. “But you said Aunt Joanna is basically the maid because she does all the serving and organizing for us,” he insisted.
That was the exact moment when my Uncle Howard let out a loud and sudden bark of laughter. He had already finished his second glass of scotch and was looking for any excuse to find the situation entertaining.