Steven had moved them without telling her. The house still had the beams she had loved on their first visit, the mural on the fireplace, and the loggia (a word Steven had taught her), but beyond that nothing was the same. He had stripped it of much of the very detail that had charmed her. There were severe angles, and everything was in gray, and it had a coldness that hadn’t been there when they first saw it. It was covered with drop cloths. Drapes and dust. She had been in a rush to move in, but when she saw the plaster everywhere, she regretted that she had complained about the mansion. She needed a home that was peaceful. “What do you think?” Steven asked after he embraced her in the loggia. “It doesn’t feel ready.” “Most of it is. The bedrooms are. I thought you’d be happy. We’ll get it finished. I just want everything to be right. I wanted you to feel like this was a place we would have together.”
