Camilla
The safe house was comfortable. It had a view of the city that was stunning. It was bigger than we really needed, with live-in staff and 24 hour security. I supposed it was nice to have some space.
Liz seemed to be doing better having her father there, though his recovery was slower than we had anticipated. He had a wheelchair now since he still couldn’t feel his legs. Liz threw a fit when the doctors couldn’t tell her if it was permanent or not.
He still slept most of the time, and I could tell Liz’s anger and resentment were building to an intolerable level.
I mixed us some ice lattes and added just a splash of caramel to Liz’s the way she liked and went out on the deck where she was sitting. She was wearing a bikini top, like she was trying for sun, but also sweatpants. I scoffed at the ridiculous combo. I threw myself down on the lounging couch next to her and thrust the coffee in her direction.
"Here."