The Spanish morning came in through the curtains warm and golden and entirely different from Milan.
Rosalina stood at the mirror doing her hair with one hand and holding her phone with the other, the video call propped against the water glass on the dressing table so she could see both Betty and Brian at the same time.
Brian was eating cereal.
This was already a victory.
“You’re eating,” she said.
“I told you I’m a big boy,” he said, around a spoonful.
“Are you taking your drugs?”
“Rosie—”
“Brian.”
“Yes.” He put the spoon down with the patience of someone who had answered this question many times. “I took them this morning. All of them. Including the white one.”
“Good.” She clipped the last section of her hair into place. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” He looked at the screen pr
