The door opens, and Luca steps aside. Evie enters without waiting for permission. Good. There are some habits I wouldn’t have her lose.
Her gaze moves first to me, then the desk, then the room. Main door. Terrace. Service panel behind the left shelf. Window. Fire grate. Luca in the hall. Me. She counts faster than she used to.
Then her eyes stop on the file.
For one breath, nothing in her face changes.
Then everything does.
Luca closes the door behind her. She doesn’t look back.
“Sit,” I say.
She looks at the chair. Then at me. Finally, she sits. Her hands rest in her lap. Loose. Empty. Still. There’s no jewelry on her fingers. No gloves. Her gray dress falls softly over the small curve she has spent weeks teaching fabric to disguise.
The curve is no longer theoretical.
“You wanted to see me,” she says.
“Yes.”
“Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Neither.”
“That seems efficient.”
“It is.”
Her gaze drops to the file again. I place one hand on it. “I know about the pregnancy.”
The room doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. Outside, somewhere beyond the western wall, a bird strikes once against the window and disappears into the trees.
Evie’s fingers tighten once. Then release.
“When?” she asks.
The question is precise. Not how. When. She already knows how.
“Three days ago.”
Her eyes lift to mine. Something sharp moves through them. Not surprise. Violation.
“Three days,” she says.
“Yes.”
“And you waited to tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I hadn’t decided what to do with the information.”
Her mouth curves. “How restrained.”
“Not as long as you kept it to yourself.”
