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“I’m sorry,” I say, catching her alone in the room. She’s staring at a tray of food like it’s offended her.
“What?” she asks, looking up.
“I said I’m sorry. You were right. We need to stay and make a stand. I shouldn’t have been mad at you. I’m sorry we fought.”
Temra grins brightly, as if nothing was ever rocky between us. “It’s a nice change when it’s you who apologizes. I’m usually the one who messes up.”
I let out a guffaw as I sit next to her on the bed. “I don’t think that’s true. I mess upalmostas much as you do.
“Mm-hmm.” She punches me lightly on the shoulder.
“Why are we glaring at your dinner?” I ask when I finish laughing.
“It’s not the dinner. It’s the cake.”
“Cake?”
“Chocolate cake.”
“And what has your favorite dessert done to offend you?”
She smacks her lips together. “I suspect it’s from Petrik, since it’s obviously not from you.”
“Why isn’t it from me?”
“You can’t cook.”
“Neither can you!” I say defensively.
“The point is, I can’t accept the cake.”
“Why’s that?”
She gives me a look. “Because I hate Petrik.”
“So? That doesn’t mean you can’t eat his cake.”
She taps her thumb against her leg. “Paulia has her hands full in the kitchens cooking for everyone.”
“I don’t follow.”
“She didn’t make thisforPetrik. He had to have made it himself.”
“And?”
“That makes it so much worse.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“He”—she searches for the right word—“labored. He made this while he was thinking of me, and I hate him, so I can’t eat it. Otherwise, it would be like forgiving him. I can’t accept it, because I don’t accept him.”
“You’ve put way too much thought into this.”
“I have to, Ziva. It’scake.”
“He’s not going to know whether or not you eat it.”
She turns her head to stare me down. “You won’t tell him?”
