She orders a martini, then turns to face me fully. “I want to apologize. I never meant to drive a wedge between you and Iris. That was never my intention.”I scoff. “What exactly did you think would happen when you told me we were mates?”“I didn’t tell you,” she points out. “You figured it out on y
ArthurThe bed feels wrong without Iris in it. Too big, too empty, too cold. Each time I shut my eyes, I’m acutely aware of her absence. The mattress doesn’t dip on her side. The sheets don’t rustle with her movements. Her scent lingers on the pillow, but it’s fading quickly.I’ve barely slept since
A soft cough behind me makes me whirl around, paintbrush still in hand.I’m surprised to find Nora, the nanny, standing in the doorway, holding a silver tray with a teapot and plate of cookies. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in my painting, and for reasons I can’t quite explain, I instinctivel
Iris“That’s two daughters now,” my father fumes as he paces the length of the sitting room. “First Selina, now Iris. He has scorned both of my daughters, and—”“Francis,” my mother chides gently from her seat beside me on the sofa, “you’re not helping, darling. And Selina is no saint.”“Perhaps,” m
He looks like he wants to argue, but after a moment, he nods. “I understand.”I clean my brushes methodically, focusing on the familiar routine to keep myself from falling apart. Rinse in paint thinner, then water, then wash with soap, reshape the bristles, lay them flat to dry. Arthur watches me si
IrisI think I’ve finally found my rhythm again, after weeks of disruption. My brush moves easily across the canvas tonight as I paint a serene scene of a fat little bird sitting in a tree. That very bird is sitting in the tree outside my window, his bright yellow feathers all puffed up and glowing