There was something in Dante’s tone that stopped Richard from replying.
Dante looked down at the broken glass still scattered near Clara’s shoes.
Then at the damp front of her service uniform.
Then at Madison.
“Did you push her?”
Madison blinked.
“What?”
“I asked a simple question.”
“It was an accident.”
Clara said nothing.
Madison looked toward her mother.
Evelyn intervened.
“The girls have always had a difficult relationship.
Madison may have touched her, but Clara lost her balance.”
Dante’s expression barely changed.
Yet the people closest to him seemed to become more careful about breathing.
Madison folded her arms.
“Why does any of this matter to you?”
It was the wrong question.
Richard knew it immediately.
“Madison,” he warned.
But she was humiliated now, and humiliation made her reckless.
“She works for the caterer tonight.
She spilled a tray.
She isn’t part of the negotiation.”
Dante studied her for a long moment.
Then Richard reached again toward Clara, this time with a strained smile.
“Come on.
You’ve made your point.
Go clean yourself up.”
Clara did not move.
Richard’s voice hardened.
“You are my daughter.
Do not force me to repeat myself.”
Dante stepped between them.
Richard stopped.
Madison stared.
Dante’s eyes stayed on Richard.
“You keep telling everyone what she is to you.”
Richard frowned.
“Because she is my daughter.”
“Then perhaps you should have acted like her father when she was bleeding on the floor.”
No one spoke.
Richard’s face reddened.
“You are crossing a line.”
Dante gave the smallest nod.
“Good.”
Madison let out an incredulous laugh.
“What exactly is Clara to you?”
Dante turned toward her.
It was the first time he gave Madison his complete attention all evening.
She seemed to regret asking before he even answered.
Dante gestured toward Clara.
“She’s mine.”
The ballroom went silent.
Clara stared at him.
