“Fay,” Kent says, clenching his mouth closed after he utters my name, apparently needing a minute to rein in his temper. That little muscle of frustration flickers in his cheek, making my little smile grow. “You’re not to come down to the basement. I was clear about this.”
I give him a fake little pout, seeing how far I can push it. “But it’s so interesting down here,” I say, turning my attention back to the wedding album. “For instance,” I say, my voice light, “I had no idea you’d consent to get married in just a linen shirt – no suit coat even – very bohemian of you –“
Kent takes two steps forward and snatches the photo album out of my hand, glaring at me. Then, he glances down at it, as if surprised.
We’re both silent for a moment while he stares at the photo album. “I haven’t lo
