CHRISTOF
I realized, halfway through, that I was explaining myself. Too much. Laying out justifications like exhibits in a trial. It unsettled me, having to explain myself like this. I shoved my rising displeasure aside.
Pepa watched me in silence, lips pressed together, eyes calculating.
“And the house?” she asked again. “Why here?”
“Because Roman decided to send a team of stylists here,” I said flatly. “To help her get ready apparently.”
That was true enough to stand on its own. She leaned back slightly, arms folded. But she wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet.
“And you just sat there,” she said quietly, which made it worse, “while she spoke to me like that. You heard her tone, Christof. You let her talk to me that way.”
I held her hands delicately. “She wasn’t disrespectful,” I s
