Elena's POV
The rest of dinner went on in its usual chaos.
A table overflowing with extravagant dishes, plates being passed around, spoons clinking, everyone reaching, picking, dropping and talking.
In the middle of all that noise my sweet Oldman kept refilling my plate every three minutes.
Meat, vegetables, soup, even things I did not ask for. He piled them high with that proud smile of his.
Marcus's eyes never left me.
Not my face, my plate.
The guy was silently stabbing every piece of chicken Grandpa placed in front of me. If looks could kill my food would have evaporated off the table.
Meanwhile I just sat there, cozy and content, letting my sweet Oldman fuss over me like his long lost princess.
Mum watched us with soft amusement.
My dad looked two seconds away from snapping.
And Dylan looked like he wanted dinner to end five minutes ago so he could disappear back into his room.
