Cercei's POV
“How has your day been?” Mamà inquired, gently placing her bag on the couch and pouring herself a glass of wine. She had just got off work.
“Fine,” I replied quickly, avoiding her gaze.
“You don’t have to work, you know. You can stay here and relax, watch some TV,” she suggested, studying me closely. We had been living here for two months now. Mamà had found a job at a local coffee shop, while my Aunt worked at a casino. My Aunt usually came home very late, whereas Mamà would return at 8 in the evening.
“I don’t enjoy being idle; besides, I don’t even understand the TV. I don’t speak Greek,” I gestured toward the small television set in our apartment. I, too, had found a job as a dishwasher at a small restaurant down the street. Initially, I intended to apply as a waitres
