Elena had been working on it since six in the morning. By the time the rest of the villa stumbled downstairs for coffee, the itinerary was pinned to the refrigerator, the hallway bulletin board, and — somehow — each of our bedroom doors. Color-coded. Laminated.
"What is this?" Isabella said, holding up her copy like it was evidence at a trial.
"It's the week's schedule," Elena said, adjusting her glasses with the quiet satisfaction of a woman who had once run a university faculty. "I've allocated time blocks for group activities, individual pursuits, and rotational access to Jake. It's fair, it's efficient, and it accounts for sun exposure, hydration, and recovery from last night."
"It's a spreadsheet," Victoria said.
"It's an itinerary."
"It has cell merging. It's a spreadsheet."
