My father turned away before Elias’s voice came through.
“Tonight I still have to pretend I’m desperate to sleep with her.”
The room went perfectly silent.
I stared at the tea table in front of me, at the tiny scratch on the polished wood that had been there since I was ten and dropped a music box on it. I focused on that scratch because it was easier than looking at my father’s face.
Rebecca stopped the recording when it ended.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Finally, my father said, “How much do they know?”
“Nothing about the trust,” I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to. “Nothing about you. Elias knows my mother died and that I’m not close to my extended family. He thinks the apartment came from years of saving, plus some family money from an aunt.”
Rebecca sat down across from me. “And the apartment title?”
