Chapter 5
Julian didn't waste breath on an argument that would go nowhere. He reached past Clara, ignoring her sharp intake of breath as his hand brushed the delicate fabric of her gown, and walked straight to the wooden stool. He knelt down beside his father, his dark navy trousers brushing the dusty floor. "Come on, Dad," Julian said softly, his voice dropping all its previous hardness, replacing it with a deep, aching tenderness. Arthur looked up, blinking slowly, his clouded eyes reflecting the confusion of a man who didn't want to cause trouble. He nodded faintly and let his son take his calloused hand. Julian pulled him gently to his feet, supporting his elbow as they turned toward the white double doors. With a firm push, Julian swung the doors open, flooding the dim kitchen with the harsh, bright light of the ballroom. The chatter of the guests faltered. Dozens of heads turned in unison, Champagne flutes pausing halfway to mouths. Silence rippled through the room as Julian led his father out, walking right down the center aisle of the polished floor. Arthur’s worn leather shoes scuffed against the imported hardwood, leaving faint marks that no one dared to comment on. Julian kept his chin high, his eyes locked straight ahead, refusing to look at the stunned, disapproving faces of the elite crowd watching them pass in absolute, suffocating silence.
