Page 70 of Luca

Because I do know. Because I spent weeks here learning exactly those things, figuring out how to blend in and surviveand find my way around a city where I didn't speak the language but needed to make myself understood.

"I read travel guides," I say. "I wanted to be prepared."

"Very thorough of you."

"I didn't want to embarrass you or seem like an ignorant tourist."

"And you certainly don't seem ignorant. If anything, you seem quite knowledgeable about Prague for someone who's never been here."

For fuck’s sake! Why won’t he say it already? Go ahead and outright accuse me of something! Anything!

The accusations are getting less subtle, the traps closing around me with each exchange. I’ve got to find a way to get through the rest of this dinner without revealing anything else that might condemn me.

"I think you're reading too much into things," I say with a laugh. "I'm just trying to be a good traveler, to appreciate the culture we're visiting."

"Of course. I'm probably being paranoid."

But his tone suggests he doesn't think he's being paranoid at all.

"Are you worried about something?" I ask, turning the question back on him. "Like I said before, you seem... tense tonight."

"Do I? I suppose I'm just processing some information I received today. Some unexpected revelations that have me questioning things I thought I understood."

"What kind of revelations?"

"The kind that make you realize how little you actually know about the people closest to you."

"I'm sure whatever it is, it's not as serious as you're making it out to be," I say desperately.

"I hope you're right. Because if my suspicions are correct, if the person I trust most has been deceiving me about who they really are..." He trails off, letting the threat hang unfinished.

"What would you do?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.

"I don't know. That would depend on the nature of the deception, I suppose. And whether the person in question was willing to be honest about what they've been hiding."

It sounds like he's offering me a chance to confess. To come clean about whatever he thinks he knows and hope that honesty might earn me some kind of mercy.

But I can't.

Because if I tell him the truth - about Sofia, about the switch, about everything - it won't just destroy me. It will destroy Sofia too, wherever she is. It will expose her to the same danger I'm facing now.

"You're overthinking things," I say finally. "And worrying for nothing. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one."

"And what would the simple explanation be in this case?"

"That your wife is trying very hard to be the kind of partner you deserve, even if she sometimes feels out of her depth in your world."

"Is that what this is? You feeling out of your depth?"

"Maybe."

It's not entirely a lie. I do feel out of my depth. I'm drowning in lies and deception and the constant fear of discovery.

"I see." He signals for the check, and I realize dinner is over. We've survived the meal without a complete breakdown, but the walls are closing in around me.

"Should we walk back to the hotel?" I ask. "It's such a beautiful evening."

"If you'd like."