“What happened to that kitten?” I ask, bracing myself. I’m prepared to hear another horror story, but Ana just shrugs in response.

“It grew up in the house,” she says, gently squeezing my arm before taking her hand away. “Julian kept it as his pet, named it Lola. He and his father had a fight about that—the older Señor hated animals—but by then Julian was old enough, and tough enough, to stand up to his father. Nobody dared to touch the little creature for as long as it was under Julian’s protection. When he left for America, he took the cat with him. As far as I know, it lived a nice long life and passed away from old age.”

“Oh.” Some of my tension fades. “That’s good. Not good that Julian lost his pet, I mean, but that it lived for a long time.”

“Yes. It’s good indeed. And you know, Nora, the way he looked at that kitten…” She trails off, gazing at me with a strange smile.

“What?” I ask warily.

“He looks at you like that sometimes. With that same kind of tenderness. He might not always show it, but he treasures you, Nora. In his own way, he loves you. I truly believe that.”

I press my lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to flood my eyes again. “Why are you telling me this, Ana?” I ask when I’m certain I can speak without breaking down. “Why did you come out here?”

“Because Julian is the closest thing I have to a son,” she says softly. “And because I want him to be happy. I want both of you to be happy. I don’t know if this changes anything for you, but I thought you should know a little more about your husband.” Reaching out, she squeezes my hand and then walks back inside the house, leaving me standing by the railing, even more confused and heartsick than before.

I don’t join Julian in the office that afternoon. Instead I lock myself in the library and work on the paper, trying not to think about my husband and how much I want to be sitting by his side. I know that just being near him would make me feel better, that his presence alone would help with my hurt and anger, but some masochistic impulse keeps me away. I don’t know what I’m trying to prove to myself, but I’m determined to keep my distance for at least a few hours.

Of course, there’s no avoiding him at dinner.

“You didn’t come today,” he observes, watching me as Ana ladles us some mushroom soup for an appetizer. “Why not?”

I shrug, ignoring the imploring look Ana gives me before going back to the kitchen. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Julian frowns. “You’re sick?”

“No, just a bit under the weather. Plus I had a paper to finish and some lectures to catch up on.”

“Is that right?” He stares at me, his eyebrows drawn together. Leaning forward, he asks softly, “Are you sulking, my pet?”