The door opened without a knock this time.
Trevor stepped into the sunroom like he owned every square inch of air, light, and flooring, dressed in a dark shirt with the sleeves casually rolled and his platinum ring catching the sun like it had been cast there for dramatic effect. He paused just inside the threshold, eyes scanning the tableau in front of him, the half-finished lemon tart in Lucas's hand, the soft linens, and the too-close figure of Benjamin LaVierre reclining in a chair like he belonged in the painting of someone else's marriage.
Lucas, to his credit, did not jump up like a scandalized debutante. He didn't move at all.
But Benjamin did.
He turned with a lazy smile that only sharpened at the edges when Trevor didn't return it. "Ah, the husband arrives. Don't worry, I was just being charming, not scandalous."
