“Colin,” I warned, doubtful anyone wanted to talk about something so sad at the dinner table.

“It’s quite all right.” Angela held up one hand, then patted her mouth with a napkin with the other. “Bianca would love that you want to go there. Did you know she was a writer? A brilliant one, at that.”

She shared a few personal stories, and I couldn’t help but reach under the table for Constantine’s hand and squeeze it.

“What about you, Juliette? What do you do for a living?” Angela’s pivot gave me whiplash. “I’m embarrassed I haven’t asked that of you yet.”

“She’s a pediatric nurse,” Colin piped up while drizzling a little olive oil on his bread.

“And he’s good at answering for everyone,” I added with a small smile.

“Hmm. Well, do you plan to continue to work?”

Why was she asking me that? What’d she think I would do, expect to live off their dime?

Ironically, one of my main complaints whenever I’d read a novel featuring an uber wealthy guy and a woman working hard to make ends meet was her insisting she wanted to keep at the daily grind.

Now, there I was a walking hypocrite. Didn’t I tell Constantine just yesterday in his kitchen that I wouldn’t let him take care of me?

Constantine smoothed his thumb on top of my hand beneath the table, reminding me I never answered, and Colin, of all times, had chosen that moment to keep his mouth shut.

“Juliette will more than likely need to stay out of work all week until we handle the, uh, situation,” Constantine offered when it was clear I’d gone into overthinking paralysis mode. “Once it’s safe to return, I’m sure she’ll decide what she wants to do.”

Angela sipped her wine, assessing us from across the table. I wasn’t that shocked when she went straight for the heart and asked, “Does Colin have a stepdad?”

Constantine not-so-subtly cleared his throat, and I tightened my hold of his hand to signal a request to answer for me again. He shook his head no.

“So, that means you two are planning on marrying? It’s, of course, the right thing to do for Colin, sí?” And those OMG questions from her, as Colin would’ve called them, kept on coming.

“Ma,” Constantine said like a reprimand.

“What’d I say?” She eyed her husband, and even he gave her a disapproving look.

“Um, we, well . . .” I was going to use up every filler word I could until someone, hopefully Constantine, rescued me again with an answer.

“We won’t get married because of that, no.” Constantine shut her down, then noted the disappointed look on our son’s face at the same time I did. “We’d marry for love, not out of obligation,” he explained.