She is an angel in every dangerous sense. And I have just been given a photograph.
I hold the napkin to my mouth until the iron taste of betrayal is all I can taste.
Outside, in the courtyard, Tyler laughs too loudly at a joke Dominic makes with his new bodyguards. The sound is brittle. James is talking to a reporter, eyes glazed with the sound of his own defense. Angel moves like a queen and disappears into the night with two men who look like patrons.
I fold the napkin into my palm. I keep the security image open on my phone and watch the conservatory frame loop, a quiet, private film. My babies kick twice, small and hot and impossible.
A thought as simple and as shattering as glass arrives in me: I cannot be surprised anymore. The game here is stranger, meaner, and far more intimate
