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Neither me or Bryce elaborates. Bryce and Christopher just keep staring it off. Awkward. Stilted.

Christopher’s hand settles against my back.

Bryce sees it. He knows exactly what it means.

“Enjoy the evening,” he says.

Then he leaves us.

The place Christopher touched burns through my dress. I feel like a mannequin on display, positioned by the man who thinks he owns me, but every time I think of cutting and running, I look over at Trevor. I can still picture his smiling face, back from when I was five years old. He was funnier then. Asked about my art, and admired my paintings. Listened to some of my storytelling.

My face feels pinned into a fake smile, so tight it hurts when dinner is finally ready. We’re in the marquee on the lawn, and it’s set out like a wedding reception already.

I absolutely fucking hate it.

I sit beside Christopher. Trevor is opposite us, with Dad and Mum nearby.

Bryce sits near the far end of the marquee, with a couple of random colleagues. As far away as it gets. Still, it’s close enough that I can see him whenever I lift my eyes.

The meal passes in a blur of champagne and opulence. People discuss Chicago, finance, Trevor’s past victories and Christopher’s future role.

I zone out as best I can, caught between too many emotions to process. I’m just a muddle.

A muddle drunk on posh red wine.

The dessert plates are being cleared away when Christopher gets to his feet and taps a spoon against his glass.

Oh, no.

I don’t want any more attention in my direction, since I’ve had more than enough already.

Every scrap of conversation stops as Christopher takes the spotlight, no doubt ready to claim his glory with a toast to his father. His move. His grand achievements.

Trevor sits taller in his seat, smiling up at his son, and that gives me a pang in the guts.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight,” Christopher says. “It means a great deal to have so many of the people we value gathered together.”

He turns towards Trevor.

“Most of all, I want to thank my father. For everything he has built, everything he has taught me and every opportunity he’s given me.”

Trevor’s eyes brighten. It chokes me up.

Dad places a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. That chokes me up, too.

Everyone hears a son’s affection.

I hear a farewell.

Christopher turns to me.

“Coming home is also testament to how important it is to recognise what’s been in front of us all along. Two families, reaching for the same destination.”

My skin turns cold.

Mum is smiling. Dad is nodding along.

They know.