Dinner was a silent affair, punctuated only by the *clink* of silver against porcelain. Sophie had chosen a high-collared navy dress that reached her calves, but the fabric was thin, clinging to the curve of her waist and the swell of her breasts every time she breathed. Bram sat at the head of the long mahogany table, his presence filling the room. He didn't eat; he watched her.
Sophie felt his gaze like a physical weight. She kept her eyes on her plate, her fork pushing a piece of roasted asparagus around.
"You're not eating," Bram said.
Sophie jumped, the fork clattering against the plate. "I... I am. I'm just not very hungry."
"In this house, we do not waste food, and we do not pretend," Bram replied. He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking. "Why are you nervous, Sophie?"
