“Yes.”
“That was careless.”
The admission gave me no satisfaction.
He poured the tea.
“I apologize.”
I stared at him.
“For which part?”
“For deciding who you were before meeting you.”
The apology was direct. Unadorned.
I accepted the cup.
“Thank you.”
We drank in silence.
When Teresa returned, she led me upstairs to a bedroom at the end of a long corridor.
The room was large but not ornate. Cream walls. Dark wood. Blue curtains opening toward a balcony. Someone had placed my suitcases near the wardrobe.
A fire burned low in the grate.
Teresa indicated a second door.
“The bath is prepared. Your things are in the wardrobe. Ring if you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated.
“Mr. Santoro’s room is through there.”
She pointed toward a closed door opposite the balcony.
My heartbeat changed.
Teresa must have noticed something in my face because her voice softened.
