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“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks in a strained voice.
I give him a hard look. “I would’ve if you’d given me the chance.”
He props his hands on his hips. The action pushes the ends of his jacket open, revealing the hardness of his stomach his sweater doesn’t hide and lean hips hugged by his jeans. “You could’ve tried harder.”
“Really? When?” I drop my voice to a whisper. “When you left me half-naked here in the kitchen?”
The muscles in his jaw bunch. “When did this happen? How?”
“Upstairs,” I say again, taking the popcorn from the microwave.
Angelo steps up and stops so close behind me the heat of his skin sears me through my clothes.
Reaching around me, he takes the box. “Careful. It’s hot.”
I scoff. “I know how to make popcorn.”
He pulls the edges of the box apart, letting out a billow of steam. I watch, curious about what he’s going to do, as he empties the box in the bowl. He picks up the bowl and takes a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way to the door.
“What?” he says when I don’t follow. “Aren’t we going upstairs?”
Ignoring the jibe, I walk ahead of him, wanting to make sure he doesn’t frighten Sophie. I know he won’t harm her, but he can be brusque. As charming as he can be, he sometimes has the finesse of an ogre.
Sophie sits on the sofa with Beatrice clutched on her lap, staring at Mr. Potato Head who lifts his eyes from his face to scout through the window. Her small feet clad in my too-big socks are turned inward, her tiny body drowning in my clothes. A rush of tenderness overwhelms me. I can’t even begin to think about the hardships she’s been through, that she’s still going through.
Angelo crouches down in front of her, blocking her view of the television. She leans to the side, trying to see around him. At least she’s not acting afraid of him.
“Sophie,” he says with such unexpected gentleness that my heart misses a beat. I’ve never heard that tone from him before.
She glances at him.
“Here’s your popcorn.”
She grabs the bowl.
Angelo holds on to it. “What do we say?”
“Thanks,” she says absent-mindedly, her attention focused on the movie again.
When he lets the bowl go, she pulls it onto her lap and stuffs a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Shh, Beatrice. I can’t hear what they’re saying.”
He leaves the water on the side table and glances at me as he straightens. Worry is etched on his features.
“We’ll be back in a short while,” I tell Sophie, but she’s not paying attention.
Angelo goes ahead of me. In front of the bedroom, he stands aside for me to enter before following and closing the door.
“What’s with this Beatrice business?” he asks.
“It’s her doll. I think it’s a coping mechanism. By projecting her fears on the doll, she doesn’t have to deal with them.”
“Fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “When did she show up here?”
“The first time was little over a week ago.”
“A week?” he exclaims.
“Shh. Keep your voice down. I heard something in the house in the night, and I saw her sneaking out with a box of cereal and a carton of milk.”
