Emma's POV
Sophie came to the penthouse on Saturday.
I'd told her about Harold, about Meridian, about the week in broad strokes that didn't include the parts I was still sorting through myself. She'd listened and then said she was coming over and that wasn't a question.
She arrived at eleven with pastries and the particular energy of a pregnant woman who had decided to have opinions about everything.
Patricia let her in, looked her over once, and apparently decided she was acceptable because she brought extra coffee without being asked.
Sophie stood in the middle of the living room and turned a slow circle taking in the penthouse.
"Emma," she said.
"Don't."
"I'm just looking."
"You're doing the face."
"What face?"
"The face where you're about to say something that sounds support
