Chapter 12: Your Weight on Me

Vittorio told it plainly, standing at my kitchen window with his back to us.

"She came to me for help," he said. "Her husband was in the hospital."

Quentin's hand tightened on the table.

"I gave it. She left me in the spring and married her husband's partner in the fall."

"When?" Quentin said.

"Thirty years ago. I did not see her again until the doorway of this flat."

"I do not need a doctor to tell me what I see," he said. "But I will not say it to your face, Mr. Wexley, until you ask."

Quentin didn't ask.

He stood at the table with his hand flat on the wood and his eyes on nothing.

Rocco took his father's arm. They left together, and Rocco looked back once at Quentin and didn't say anything at all.

I locked the door behind them.

Jamie had fallen asleep on the rug with the wooden train under his cheek.

Quentin carried him to bed.

He didn't speak while he did it, and he didn't speak when he came out.

He went to the couch and sat on the edge of it with his elbows on his knees.

"I'll sleep here," he said. "If that's all right."

"It's fine."

I turned off the kitchen light and stood in the dark doorway.

I had decided something at the sink. I hadn't known I had until I watched him sit there.

He looked like a man whose whole past had been taken apart in one afternoon.

"I made a rule," I said. "That you don't touch me."

"I remember."

"I'm breaking it."

He raised his head.

I crossed the room and put both hands on his face.

He made a rough sound, deep in his chest, and his hands came up and stopped an inch from my waist.

"Sabina."

"Tell me to stop," I said. "I dare you."

"I can't."

"Then touch me."

His hands closed on my hips, and the breath went out of him.

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