“Alessandro?” she says my name with interest. I lift my gaze from my coffee and see her. “Are you having breakfast? I've made plenty, so don't worry about saying no.”
Do I want to?
The truth is, I'm very hungry, but I feel strange with her offering me food, even though it's my food and my house.
“Thank you, I will.”
She nods and turns her back. I watch her move around my kitchen as if she's known it for years. She doesn't ask where each utensil is; she goes straight to each cabinet and takes out the plates and silverware as if it's nothing. It makes me wonder if she's been rummaging through my kitchen to be able to move so naturally.
I just hope she hasn't been rummaging through my things. It's something I could expect from her intense sister, but not from her. They both resemble
