Daxton insisted on sitting next to me, and he continued to fill my plate with duck, potatoes, salad—every time I took so much as a single bite, he would replace it with another serving. “You really are too thin, my darling,” he said. “I would hate for anyone to think you’ve been mistreated.” So I’d been right; that was the reason he’d had me fixed up and made over after all. “What are you going to have me do?” I said, pushing a piece of potato around my plate. I would have taken the rotting food in Elsewhere over this any day if it meant I didn’t have to sit next to him. “Oh, you know. Nothing too strenuous. You have, after all, had a difficult few days.” He served himself another piece of duck. “You’ll be addressing the people after dinner tonight. Showing them that you’re alive and safe—you know, the usual.” He wanted me to negate any sympathy Knox’s announcement had created.
