"You won't be angry, will you?" Felicity's voice floated from the drawing room like an accusation.
I froze in the foyer with the door half-closed and my keys still warm in my palm.
She laughed, thin and bright. "You know Leon and I are friends. You always overthink."
"Get out," I said.
Felicity turned. Her smile sharpened when she saw me. "Oh, Annabelle. Don't make this ugly."
Leon sat on the low couch, coat slung over the arm, one ankle crossed. He didn't stand. He didn't look surprised. He looked bored.
"Annabelle," he said without getting up. His voice was cool, measured, like a press release. "Don't make a scene."
I heard the string of his words the way other people hear their ringtone. They cut through me but didn't startle him.
"Is she—" I started.
"—a client," Leon finished for me. "Felicity is a client."
Felicity leaned forward and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit, love. This will look better if you join us."
I stepped across the marble. The foyer light angled off the staircase and the glass, catching enough to highlight the fake sympathy on her face.
"You're smiling for my husband in our living room," I said. "At midnight."
Felicity tilted her head. "It's a small world. We run in the same circles."
"Is that what you call it now? Circles?"
"Don't be dramatic." She touched my cheek, warm and practiced, as if the gesture
