Portia groaned. “My body feels like it’s been strung up on a torture rack.” Hallie turned and glanced at Portia. “You look like you’re fifteen.” They lay on lounges beside the pool, their bodies coated with Acqua di Parma sunscreen. The rain of the previous weekend had given way to a week of brilliant sunshine. Hallie had worn shorts and tank tops to work all week, staying after work to play with Milo on the lawn. They played hide-and-seek between the statues, and chased a balled-up sock through the rose gardens. Milo seemed to grow every day. His stomach was thicker, his paws bigger, his fur was smooth and shiny. “I love teaching,” Portia admitted, turning over on her stomach. “But my jetés travel half as far as they used to, and my arabesque looks like a stork.” “I doubt that.” Hallie laughed. “I’m exhausted from chasing after Milo. I forgot how much work having a puppy is.” “It looks like it agrees with you.” Portia studied Hallie. “Or maybe it’s Angus, but you’re definitely glowing.”
