Across the table, Julian scrolled through emails with the focused efficiency that characterized everything he did, occasionally pausing on something that required more attention, once typing a brief response with the rapid economy of a man who said exactly what needed to be said and nothing else.

He hadn't asked about the spreadsheet.

He hadn't asked about the gala or the donor list or how the meeting with Diana had gone that afternoon or any of the dozen things that a person who was making conversation would have used to fill the silence.

He was just there.

At the table.

In his coat that he still hadn't taken off because...