"The little one in my belly, of course."
Omero went still for a fraction of a second, then broke into what looked like stunned delight. "Really? I'm going to be a father?"
"Really."
My heart was a cold cellar, but for the sake of my child, I had no choice but to play along. Somewhere beyond the compound walls, a car engine idled. One of his soldiers making rounds. The sound of the world going on as if nothing in this room mattered at all.
"Omero, what if... I'm just saying what if... you don't want this baby. I'll raise it on my own. I won't be a burden to you. Would that be all right?"
Something guarded flickered behind his eyes, but he forced a smile. His right hand moved to the inside of his left wrist and pressed there, just for a moment. "What are you talking about? How could I not love a child you gave me?"
"Come on, stop overthinking. Let's eat."
I looked at the table laden with dishes and turned my head away. The kitchen staff had prepared everything the way they always did — heavy plates, good silver, cloth napkins folded precisely. The household ran like a legitimate operation. Everything proper. Everything a lie.