“Neelke is not stealing from you,” he said. He held his coffee by the rim, a cage of fingers over the mouth of the cup. “And Eva is just some girl Louis picked up somewhere. This is not a mystery.” “But—the spoon. The—” “Things get misplaced. Things get misplaced all the time when you live with other people. God, what do you think half my arguments with Sebastian are about?” He had to pull in his long legs when someone wanted to pass, then unfolded them again—sprawled into space. “Stop that,” he said, and pulled Isabel’s pinching fingers from the back of her hand.
