And a woman who lets herself out of a locked room keeps, forever, the knowledge that she is the kind of person who can.

Chapter 13 — The Face I Wore at Breakfast

By eight the kitchen was quiet and filled only with the scent of the imported beans Jonathan preferred to have ground at home, and he was at the marble island with a real estate prospectus spread before him.

I walked in slowly, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the hardwood, and set a fresh mug of coffee down beside his hand.

He did not look up.