She let us into a glossy front hall—all glass-paneled doors and marble floors—and I tried not to stare. I untied my boots, slipped them off and lined them up neatly with the rows of shoes on the mat. “We’re still unpacking,” Victoria said apologetically, gesturing to the empty bookshelf in the huge living room and the piles of boxes lining one wall. “Come up to my room. It’s cozier.” I nodded. The living room wasn’t exactly inviting. Victoria’s bedroom was at the end of the upstairs hallway. She opened the door and stood back to let me go in first. I stepped inside and looked around. “What do you think?” The room was certainly smaller, but I wouldn’t have called it cozy. A neatly made-up bed, a dresser with a hairbrush lying on it, bare white walls. It had the same not-quite-lived-in look as the living room. I tried to keep my expression the same. “It’s nice,” I said. “I guess maybe you haven’t quite finished yet?” Victoria glanced around the room and shrugged.
