39
Peter
She’s shaking as I lead her downstairs, and I know it’s as much from anger as fear. I suppose her reaction should bother me, but I’m too angry myself. Yesterday, and today at breakfast, I could’ve sworn she was glad to see me, relieved that I came back. But tonight, she’s back to being cold and distant, and I won’t stand for it.
It’s time the gloves came off.
“Sit,” I tell her when we get to the kitchen table, and she plops down in a chair, a defiant expression on her pretty face. She’s determined to make things difficult, and I’m just as determined not to let her.
Taking a breath to steady myself, I turn off the bright overhead lights and light the candles. Then I plate the risotto I made and bring it over to her before getting my own food. I’m as hungry as she is, so as soo
