Mr Kingsley must have sensed the tension, his piercing eyes going back and forth between us as he laid down his fork.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his deep voice laced with concern.
I automatically lowered my gaze, pretending to be interested in my plate as I cleared my throat. "Nothing's wrong, sir," I said, forcing a small smile.
The silence that followed was thick, awkwardly spreading between us. The clinking of silverware against porcelain was the only sound in the room, amplifying the unspoken tension. By the end of dinner, the air was thick, both of us retreating into our own heads, under the weight of the unspoken words suspended between us.
.......
