She had warned him, on the drive over, that her mother did not conduct small talk so much as she conducted interviews disguised as hospitality, and that resistance was, in Zarina's considerable experience, entirely futile.
"I appreciate the warning," Josh said, adjusting his collar for what had to be the fourth time since they'd left his hotel, "though I'm not sure it's helping."
"It's not meant to help. It's meant to prepare you for the specific flavor of terror you're about to experience." She squeezed his hand, more fond than sympathetic. "For what it's worth, she already likes you. She told me so on the phone last week. She just also intends to find out for herself whether she was right to."
Her mother's house smelled, the moment they stepped through the door, of the specific combin
