They ate at the round glass table by the window.
Sophie plated the meal for all three of them with the meticulous care of a woman who had decided that if an ancient vampire was going to try her tagliatelle for the first time, the visual presentation was worth an extra three minutes of her life.
The plates were a soft matte cream. The pasta was a hand-cut tagliatelle that Sophie had, in the frantic depths of her over-preparation, started rolling out at six that morning. The sauce was a rich, simmering red, finished with a thin curl of expensive olive oil, a scatter of fresh basil, and a dusting of hard sheep's cheese.
Sophie set a plate in front of Camilla.
Camilla looked at it for a long moment. Then at Sophie. Then at the plate again.
"...Sophie."
Sophie paused, her hand lingering on the back of her own chair. "Yes?"
"How long did this take you?"
