Chapter 8: The Cup

I expected Matteo to shout when we were alone.

Instead he opened the front door for Ada.

She went in, leaving us under the porch light.

"Who told you?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"I saw you with him. In March."

March was six months ago.

I remembered a crowded restaurant and Carlo's hand at my back.

Matteo must have stood close enough to see my face.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You came home that night. I thought you'd tell me."

I had come home and picked a fight about nothing.

I had wanted him to give me a reason to leave.

He never gave me one good enough.

"I can't sleep beside you tonight," I said.

Matteo's eyes went to the bracelet in my hand.

"Your mother gave you that when you finished school."

I had forgotten I ever told him.

"You remember?"

"You wore it on our wedding day."

I had spent that day looking for a reason to resent him.

He had been looking closely enough to see my wrist.

"I'm keeping it," I said.

"I didn't ask you to give it up."

I put it around my wrist and fastened the clasp myself.

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