“Why don’t you join us, Isabel? Sit down. Join. There’s wine, there’s—” “I know there’s wine. That’s my wine.” Her breath was coming fast and uneven through her nose. “This is my kitchen. This is my—” “House, yes, we know,” Eva said. “We know. This is your house.” She was defiant—jaw cocked, looking up at Isabel. She’d winged her eyelids today, had painted her lashes. She was still holding on to Neelke. “Let her go.” “I’ll go,” Neelke said. “You stay,” Eva said.
