Blaine squeezed my hand under the table like we were sharing a secret.
“We believe in doing things the right way,” he said to the gathered relatives.
His family had money, real money.
But you wouldn’t have known it from the way he behaved.
No designer labels shoved in your face, and no sports cars parked out front.
Just this quiet, unshakeable confidence that settled over everything like gravity.
“Old family money,” a friend whispered to me once at a cocktail party. “The kind that comes with class.
The kind you don’t mess with.”
Blaine called himself traditional.
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