Rosalind watched the interaction with interest. So, Father has noticed Julia. The seamstress, for her part, didn’t seem to want to discourage him. Smiling shyly, she toyed with her dinner.
Under the table, Vidal slid his hand into Rosalind’s lap, gently squeezing her thigh. She suppressed the desire to jump and turned to face her intended. “¿Qué pasó, mi amor?” she said softly.
“Eat something,” he told her.
She lifted her fork toward her mouth, and then set it back down. “I’m not hungry,” she told him. Actually, she was finding it harder and harder to work up a desire to eat as days went by. It was partially, she supposed, nerves over the wedding, but there was something else. Instead of simply having no appetite, certain foods, things she ordinarily ate without complaint, tasted or sme
