ZIVA
Two days.
Ziva sat in the candlelit room, still wearing the white dress James had chosen for her. It was the fourth dress.
She hated them all.
James visited three times a day. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Like clockwork. Like this was normal and they were a family.
The door opened.
Right on schedule.
James entered carrying a tray. Roasted chicken. Vegetables. Wine in a crystal glass.
"Good evening, darling." He set the tray on the small table by the window. "I hope you're feeling better."
Ziva didn't respond. Just stared at the wall.
James pulled out a chair, sat across from her. "You look beautiful in white. Just like your mother did."
Silence.
"I know you're angry," James continued pleasantly. "But you'll understand eventually. What I'm doing... it's all out of love."
Ziva
