Ch. 9: Rules of the Game

Rain traced long silver lines down the window, and somewhere a clock counted the hours.

Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most.

Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to. The conversation turned, the way conversations do, from the easy things to the ones that mattered.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to.

There was a history between them that neither would name, written in the things they did not do. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen." For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all. Sophia crossed the room slowly, aware of every step, of the way she was watching without seeming to.

He had built his whole life on being certain. She had a way of making certainty feel like a cage.

Money could buy a great many things, she had learned, but never the one thing that was wanted most. "You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. For a heartbeat the careful distance between them thinned to nothing at all.

"You shouldn't have come," she said, and the words landed softer than they were meant to. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," Sophia said. "I'm asking you to listen."

She did not sleep that night. There was too much to lose, and far too much to want.