She found his concern touching, but she still didn’t like the pendant. Something about the shape felt . . . she didn’t know how to describe it . . . dark. Dark and cloudy and oily, like smoke from burnt sausage. But she’d wear it to appease Cosimo. “It’s on my nightstand, I promise.” A small white lie. But she was sure it was somewhere in the kitchen. Or the living room. Hopefully not in the pile of debris she’d left all around her fireplace. “I’ll make sure I wear it all the time from here on out.”
He paused, as if weighing the veracity of her words. Something he saw must have satisfied him because he nodded. “Good girl.” He patted her hand affectionately.
Stella smiled in return before pulling the photographs out of her pocket. “I brought photographs I thought you’d be interested in. I
