Sasha Crew had a rule about her cousin. It was a very simple rule. *Never look directly at Damien when he is pretending not to feel something.*
It was like looking at the sun. You'd only get hurt, and he'd only get angry.
So for most of Sunday lunch she looked at her soup.
The Crew family estate sat on a green hill outside the city, a sprawling old house with ivy up the walls and a terrace full of lemon trees. Pascal held Sunday lunch every week and had done so since before Sasha was born. Today the long table was set for five. Pascal at the head, as always, in his dark green jacket. Damien on his right. Silveria beside him. Felix, who had been "casually invited" by Pascal, which meant ordered. And Sasha, across from them all, with an excellent view.
She had been watching for forty minutes. She had learned a great deal.
