Isabel said it again: “Louis. I will never marry. Hendrik will never marry and I will never marry. Do you understand?” She reached out quickly—unplanned, desperate, placed her hand over Louis’s where it rested on the table. She gripped it, hard. “Do you understand?” Louis stared. His eyes were restless, back and forth. A flush rose: over his jaw, his neck. He swallowed. He looked at where her hand covered his, then back to her. She said, “Give me the house.”
