Brunch continued.
The words passed over Vivienne like water over stone. Roland was discussing the market. Camilla laughing at something Nathaniel said. The clink of forks against china. The warmth of sunlight through the windows.
None of it reached her.
What reached her was his hand.
Nathaniel's hand, always finding excuses to touch her. Adjusting her chair as she sat down. Passing her a plate of fruit, his fingers brushing hers. Reaching across her for the butter, his arm pressing against her shoulder. Under the table, his knee finding hers, and staying there.
Each touch was a revolting detonation. Every disgusting touch of his took her back to the night on the balcony.
She felt them in her bones, in her blood, in the parts of her brain that still remembered the wind and the darkne
