Gabriel narrowed his eyes with the kind of restrained composure reserved for nobility forced into family dinners. "So just to be clear, I'm now married and treason-adjacent, and somehow, the staff still thinks I'm the one who needs calming tea."
"You're not married yet," Edward snapped, rearranging silverware with the kind of aggressive precision that suggested he was seconds away from stabbing someone with the salad fork. "Because until I see a formal procession, an officiant, three state witnesses, and at least one acceptable rehearsal, no legal union will be recognized. Not under this roof."
Damian, who had leaned back again with the serenity of a man who had long since accepted his role as the architect of chaos, raised a single brow. "I am the roof."
