Harvey handed a package to Aunt Estella: a bottle of wine and what looked like a box of sweets, and then turned to face Franz.
"So," Harvey said. His voice was deep, a little rough. "I'm finally meeting the husband in person." He extended his hand. "You look better than on screen. I'm Harvey Chen."
Franz took his hand. The grip was firm but not crushing. "Franz Rochefort."
He didn't say Noah Hart. He wanted Harvey to know exactly who he was dealing with. Not the celebrity. Not the actor. The husband.
Harvey's mouth curved. He looked amused, but he didn't comment. "Franz Rochefort," he repeated. "Good to meet you."
Aunt Estella broke the tension by stepping between them. "Harvey, it's been too long. You look thin. Are you eating properly?"
"I eat. Nothing tastes as good as your cooking. All the five-star restaurants I've visited, and none of them compare."
Aunt Estella swatted his arm playfully. "Flatterer. Come, sit. Dinner is ready."
