The silence in the dining room was suffocating.
The table was set with fine china and crystal. The food was steaming and fragrant, braised pork belly, steamed fish, stir-fried greens, but no one made a move to eat.
My mouth watered, and I gulped.
If I moved to eat now, they would think I was not compassionate enough to read the mood in the air.
The only sound was the clinking of silverware against porcelain as we pushed food around our plates. Roushi was asleep upstairs in the guest nursery, watched over by Nanny Gao. His absense at the table felt like a hole.
Mo Yumen ate mechanically, staring at a point on the wall.
Yichen spent the entire time filling my plate with spinach, red meat. He nudged my shoulders and I flashed him a wry smile before taking small bites.
I loved the fact that he was worrying about me.
