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“Of course, I was certain he meant Eleanor— with the whole she’s alive and what have you— and Mark was fairly clear on that as well. Eleanor being in the same room and all.”
Devon groans. She’s standing in the living room, burping Eleanor, and she sees it all come crashing down in slow motion, the way Gemma’s eyes narrow just the tiniest amount, one hand clenching around the kitchen counter.
“And what did Devon think?” It sounds remarkably loaded, from where Devon’s standing, but Ricken must see it as part of their easy back-and-forth, because he chuckles, that low, warm sound that always made Devon smile.
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devon controls the narrative. gemma is sick of being controlled.