“She’s coming to work with me today and didn’t have anything to wear, so I lent her one of my shirts—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted, cutting him off.
Both of them froze, caught off guard by my calm tone.
Vincent looked at me incredulously as if he felt my reaction was too calm.
He explained, “Last night, she slept in the guest room,” he said quickly, as though trying to preempt any accusations. “Don’t overthink things—”
I interrupted again, my voice steady. “I’m not overthinking. You two grew up together. You’ve always seen her as a sister. You even said the guest room is basically hers, open to her anytime and that she doesn’t need my permission to come over. I remember.”
Vincent faltered, the fight draining from his posture. When he spoke again, his tone was softer.
“I’m glad that you can think this way. I really want you and Zoe to get along.”
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. It was the courier I had scheduled.
Vincent finally noticed the piles of boxes I’d packed and stacked neatly in the living room.
His expression darkened as he walked over to inspect them.
“Claire, what do you mean?” he demanded, his voice tight. “You don’t want all the things I gave you?”