Every face at the table turned toward me.
Not all at once. In pieces. A cousin first. Then an aunt. Then the whole row of them, one by one, like dominoes I couldn't stop.
My hands stayed folded in my lap. I kept my eyes on the far wall — the painting above Romano's head, some old landscape with horses — and pretended I couldn't feel them looking.
"I work for Mr. Jack."
The silence held.
Then Jack's voice, low and easy, from the head of the table.
"She works for me."
He didn't look at me. He looked at Skylark.
"Do you have a problem with that?"
Skylark's smile didn't move. But something behind it did.
"Didn't know you were so kindhearted," she said. "Giving a woman like her work in a place like this."
A woman like her.
I felt it land. I didn't flinch.
Jack cleared his throat.
