Bianca slips through the side door after Robert and Imelda, finding herself in a vast industrial kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleam under harsh fluorescent lights, and the air carries the lingering scent of canapés and sauces. Multiple prep stations create a maze of shadows and hiding spots, while rack after rack of pristine china and crystal stretch into the dimness.
She keeps to the shadows, her silk gown rustling softly as she creeps forward to catch their heated conversation.
"I don't understand why you won't talk to me, Imelda! After everything we had together..." Robert's voice carries an edge of desperation.
"I'm talking to you now. Do you have anything useful to say?" Imelda's tone is ice-cold.
Robert stepped closer, his face twisted in a mix of anger and desperation. "I'm trying to tell you if we just get back to where we used to be, when we were on the same page, we can—"