Rosalie might eat, drink, wear money, but she rarely thought about it. It was like air: necessary and plentiful. You weren't supposed to think about it and you never talked about it and you certainly didn't flaunt it ostentatiously, and it was understood to old money that that was the way things worked. And while yes, she realized that she had a great deal more of it than most other people, she usually tried to downplay it because it did tend to make people awkward.
When his smile faltered it made her expression slip even more because that wasn't what she had meant to happen at all. Once the waiter had left, she slipped her hand across the table to cover his and looked at him with wide, serious grey-green eyes. "I'm fine," she started out, because she was. Really. Just like always. "Vaughn's just-- she's serious, okay? Not a joke. She tried to kill--" me "--my friend. Threatened her with a knife and then pushed her down a flight of stairs." Her grip on his hand tightened for a second, almost possessive. "Please stay away from her?"