Page 62 of Shattered Throne
I walked inside with my head high.
The hostess led me through the restaurant—all soft lighting and white tablecloths and the gentle clink of expensive silverware—to a private table near the back. Eleanor Dubois was already seated, a glass of wine in front of her, looking exactly like the kind of woman who dined at places like this every week.
"Kim." She rose to greet me, pressing a kiss to each cheek. "You look lovely. Please, sit."
I sat. A waiter appeared immediately, presenting menus, pouring water, and asking about wine preferences. Eleanor handled it all with practiced ease, ordering a bottle of something French that I couldn't pronounce.
"I'm so glad you could come," she said once we were alone. "I've been wanting to get to know you better. Away from all the family chaos."
"I appreciate the invitation."
"Tell me about yourself." She leaned forward with a genuine interest in her eyes. "Xavier talks about you constantly, but I want to hear it from you. Where did you grow up? What do you dream about? What makes you happy?"
I answered her questions, carefully at first, then more openly as the wine flowed and her warmth put me at ease. I told her about aging out of foster care, about working my way throughcommunity college, about Zoe and how becoming a mother had changed everything.
She listened without judgment. Asked follow-up questions that showed she was actually paying attention. Laughed at my jokes and shared stories of her own—about raising three children, about building a family from complicated pieces, about loving people even when they made it difficult.
Somewhere between the appetizer and the main course, I realized I was enjoying myself.
"Now," Eleanor said, setting down her fork, "I have to ask. And I want the truth, just between us girls."
I braced myself.
"What do you really see in my grandson?"
The question hung in the air. I could give her the rehearsed answer, the one designed to sell the arrangement. I could talk about chemistry and connection and all the things fake girlfriends were supposed to say.
But looking at her, at the genuine curiosity in her eyes, I found myself telling the truth.
"He surprises me," I said slowly. "Everyone talks about him like he's this shallow playboy, but that's not what I see. I see someone who's kind when no one's watching, who works harder than anyone gives him credit for." I paused, something clicking into place as I spoke. "He's not who he pretends to be. He's better. And I think... I think he's starting to figure that out."
Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes glistened slightly in the candlelight.
"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say," she said softly.
The rest of dinner passed in a warm blur. By the time we finished dessert, it felt less like an interrogation and more like talking to a friend. A terrifyingly wealthy, impossibly elegant friend, but still.
"Thank you for tonight," I said as we stood to leave. "I had a wonderful time."
"So did I." Eleanor pressed another kiss to each cheek. "Take care of him, Kim. He needs someone like you."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded.
She swept out of the restaurant in a cloud of expensive perfume, leaving me standing by the coat check, still processing everything.
I was waiting outside for the valet to bring my car when my phone rang.
Xavier.
I answered. "Hello?"
"How'd it go?"
I glanced around, half expecting to see him lurking behind a potted plant. "How did you know it just ended? Are you stalking me or something?"
"Of course not." A pause. "Maybe a little."
I laughed. "It went fine. Your grandmother was lovely."
