Now, as he stood at the threshold of her bedroom, she noticed something else beneath his calm.
Tension.
Not enough for Elara to see. Not enough for the wardrobe assistants to notice.
“You look thrilled,” she said.
“I rarely look otherwise.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” Garette said. “It is not.”
Elara’s gaze moved between them.
Rosette stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Do you know these people?”
“The Aristotles?”
“So everyone knows except me.”
Garette did not answer immediately.
That annoyed her more than a lie would have.
“I know of them,” he said.
“And?”
“And I do not like family trips arranged like security operations.”
Elara’s hand tightened over the edge of the vanity.
Rosette noticed that too.
“So it is not just me,” Rosette said.
Garette’s eyes moved briefly to Elara, then back to Rosette.
“I did not say that.”
“You did. You just used your old-man spy language.”
“I am not old.”
“You listen to jazz while cleaning firearms.”
“That is called taste.”
Rosette almost smiled.
Then the weight of the day returned.
“Should I be worried?”
Garette’s face did not change.
Elara stood. “Garette.”
Garette looked at Rosette for a long second.
Then he said, “You should be aware.”
Rosette felt the words settle beneath her skin.
Aware did not mean afraid.
Aware meant look for exits.
Aware meant know what someone wanted before they asked for it.
Aware meant trouble could wear a dinner jacket and smile at your mother.