Chapter 2“Please tell me why you’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.” Theo sat in a floral upholstered armchair as he watched his mother go through the ritual of removing her jewelry. And it was a ritual. He’d been studying it for twenty-eight years.
“You know I hate when you pout. And when you slouch.”
“I’m not pouting.” But he did sit up straighter in his chair. “I’m quiet. Thinking. There is most definitely a difference.”
“It’s been a hard day on all of us, dear.” His mother only ever called him dear when someone was watching, and he turned his head to find one of the maids in the doorway.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Webb.” The woman shot Theo a coy smile. “I have fresh towels.”
The maid was new, young, and pretty, and like most of the other house staff his mother kept, didn’t seem to have gotten
