“I see there was trouble today,” she says, sitting down next to me. She nods at my arm. Her scar goes from just above her right eye to the right corner of her lip, but it’s not ugly. I wish she wouldn’t wear the veil.
I shrug. “There is always trouble. Why were you watching that?”
“Because it’s wonderful. Is this the part where you pretend it makes you angry?”
“She’s a prisoner,” I grumble. “Nothing else.”
She sighs. “Are we really going to play that game, Carlo?”
“It’s not a game. It’s the truth.”
My words ring with a hollowness I don’t like at all. Hazel and Emily are still dancing on the screen. I taste her, mixing with the pond water, smell her damp hair, feel her cheek against my too-fast heartbeat.
“You want this woman, Carlo. I can tell. A mother knows these things.”
“I can’
