Breakfast ended with the sharp scrape of Grandfather Sinclair's chair against the marble floor.
"Damien," the patriarch commanded, standing up and leaning heavily on his silver-headed cane. "The study. We have quarterly projections to discuss. Your uncles are waiting."
He looked at Lucas, who scrambled to stand up, wiping egg yolk from his lip, eager to join the "men's club."
"Not you," Grandfather snapped. "This is for the adults. Go... play outside."
Lucas flushed a deep, humiliating crimson. He sank back into his chair as Damien stood, buttoning his jacket. Damien caught Aria's eye, a silent question in his gaze: Will you be okay?
Aria winked at him over her teacup. Go.
"The ladies will retire to the Solarium," Diana announced, her voice tight.
Ten minutes later, Aria found herself trapped in a glass cage filled with poisonous flowers.
