I reached Verena’s chair, curling my fingers around the back of it, letting them feel the weight of that small, possessive gesture. Letting them see it. I leaned down and brushed my lips against her shoulder, and a shudder passed through her, so slight I almost couldn’t feel it. But she still didn’t turn to look at me. She didn’t need to. She was still looking at my father, and so was I. I stood behind her, and I didn’t speak.
