Chapter 8

Chapter 8

DENISE

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The dining room had been laid out for a late breakfast-the kind of spread that appeared effortless because someone had spent a considerable number of hours making it look that way. Pastries, sliced fruit, soft cheeses, a silver pot of coffee, juice in a crystal pitcher. The table was long enough for eight but had been set at one end, intimate by design.

Elena gestured to a seat and I sat, reaching for the bread basket before anyone had quite settled.

I helped myself. Properly, without asking, the way you ate when you were hungry and had decided that being a guest in this house didn’t require performing smallness. I loaded my plate -bread, fruit, a slice of the soft cheese-and poured myself coffee before anyone spoke.

Elena’s eyes tracked me for a moment. Then, lightly: “Denise, are you alright?”