Guinevere’s lips curved, slow and deliberate, a smile too soft to be innocent, too certain to be dismissed.

“You, of course,” she said lightly.

Her lashes lowered and lifted in a measured rhythm, each blink almost theatrical, as though every glance she cast carried a quiet, calculated gravity. The air seemed to tilt toward her confidence.

Katie didn’t flinch. Her gaze was steady, sharp, immovable.

“I don’t have any cousins of marriageable age,” she said coolly. “Unless you mean my father and he’s far too old for you. I certainly don’t need a stepmother.”

A brief silence followed.

“So,” she finished, her voice calm but cutting, “I truly don’t know...