Bridges Burned (Going Down in Flames #2)(50)

Three-string quartet? What had she gotten herself into? “When I hear ‘Christmas Eve dinner,’ I imagine sitting down to eat with a few family members. What do you mean when you say it?”

Her grandmother blinked. “I’m referring to our annual Christmas Eve ball.”

A ball…as in Cinderella-riding-in-a-horse-drawn-carriage kind of ball? Where is my fairy godmother when I need one? What in the heck would she wear?

“I’ve never been to a ball,” seemed like the only rational response.

Jaxon snorted.

Bryn’s grandmother turned her steely gaze on him. “Did you have something to add to the conversation, young man?”

“No. Sorry. That was rude of me. I can’t imagine a life where you’ve never been to a Christmas ball.”

Bryn imagined beaning him in the head with a ravioli, but then she realized this wasn’t about Jaxon. It was about mending fences with her grandparents. Keeping her voice calm and even, she ignored Jaxon and addressed her grandmother. “A ball sounds fun. I assume people dance and eat. What else happens?”

“After dinner, we adjourn to a separate ballroom where everyone opens one present. The rest are saved for Christmas morning.”

Okay. Her grandparents had more than one ballroom. Interesting. Did she need to buy presents for her grandparents? What could you buy for people who had two freaking ballrooms?

“I love watching the little ones open their presents.” Lillith’s hand drifted to her stomach. “It will be a few years before Asher figures out how Christmas works.”

“Asher?” Bryn’s grandmother asked.

Lillith practically glowed. “I’m expecting a boy.”

“Congratulations.” Her grandmother held up her wine in a toast. “I hope he brings you as much joy as Jaxon has.”

Bryn snorted.

Jaxon glared at her.

Bryn tried to look repentant, but ended up laughing. “Sorry. It’s just that I don’t associate you with joy.”

“He wasn’t always this intense,” Lillith said. “You should have seen him when he was three. He walked around clutching this bear—”

“Mother.” Jaxon sounded like he was moments from exploding.

Lillith reached over and ruffled his hair. The mutinous expression on his face almost made Bryn choke on the ravioli she’d popped into her mouth. “Bryn needs to know you’re not always this serious. After all, if the Directorate approves your lineage—”

“Here’s your food.” Valmont passed out entrées, oblivious to what he’d interrupted.

“Anything else I can get for you?” he asked.

“Strychnine, or a noose,” Jaxon muttered.

“Sorry, you have to call ahead for special orders.” Valmont touched Bryn’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll rescue you if things turn ugly.”

“Thanks.”

Her grandmother watched Valmont walk away. “Are you friends with the waiter?”

“He’s my knight.”

“You do seem to foster relationships with the most inappropriate people.” Her grandmother’s tone was frosty.

Fire rose in Bryn’s throat. Concentrating, she pushed it back down. After taking a drink of her ice water, she cut into the calzone. “Valmont is one of the most honorable people I know. If anything bad were to happen, I know I could trust him to be on my side.”

“And you couldn’t trust me?” Her grandmother’s tone was flat and cold.

Just like that, lunch went to hell. Bryn set her fork down and gave her grandmother her full attention. “If I played my role according to polite society, this is the part where I’d declare my undying trust in you. However, I was raised to be honest. The truth is, I don’t know you well enough to answer that question. I’m sorry if this starts us out on the wrong foot.”

Lillith and Jaxon both looked like they were ready to duck and cover. Had she ruined everything?

“Although my daughter is to blame for your lack of social skills, at least she instilled in you a good moral code. While I don’t like your answer, I appreciate your honesty.”

Bryn’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Do sit up straight, and try to keep your elbows off the table.”

After adjusting her posture, Bryn tackled the next thorny topic of conversation. “Are my parents invited to dinner Christmas Eve?”

Sipping her wine, her grandmother stared off into the distance. Was she remembering Christmases past? Had there ever been a happy Christmas Eve at her grandmother’s house? They probably hadn’t stayed up all night eating cookies and stringing popcorn.

“Your grandfather and I decided it might be best if your parents came for a private visit on a different day.”

That was convenient. She gripped her fork tighter and tried to keep the snark out of her voice. “Any day in particular?”

“A day between Christmas and New Year’s would be ideal. You can discuss it with them when you return home for the holidays, and then we’ll make plans.”

Strain showed around her grandmother’s eyes. Giving this inch must’ve cost her a lot.

“Thank you for agreeing to see them.”

Her grandmother nodded. “On to more important business. Do you have an appropriate gown for the ball?”