DEBORAH'S POV
The dining room felt warmer now that everyone had settled in for dinner. I sat beside Elijah at the long mahogany table, trying to focus on the conversations around me instead of the weight of what had just happened in the kitchen. He'd hurt me again, but he was here. That had to count for something.
The table was covered with an elaborate spread that father would have been proud of. Crystal glasses caught the light from the chandelier, and the good china had been brought out for the occasion. Platters of honey-glazed ham sat alongside roasted vegetables and dinner rolls that were still warm from the oven. The smell of rosemary and garlic filled the air, making my stomach growl despite everything.
"The arrangements for tomorrow are nearly finalized," Victoria was saying from her place at the head of the table. "The service will be at St. Matthews at ten, followed by the burial at Greenwood Cemetery like he had wanted."
