"Can I ask you something," she said.
He waited.
"You're in love with her."
It wasn't quite a question — it was the thing she'd assessed and was checking against the source. He held the assessment for a moment, examining it the way he examined everything he intended to respond to: carefully, from all sides, without reaching for a word that was less than accurate.
"Yes," he said.
She received it without expression. Not unkindly — without noise, which wasn't the same thing.
"Does she know."
"Not explicitly," he said. "She knows something. She's very perceptive. But we haven't said anything direct."
"Why not."
He thought about it.
"Because saying it changes what she's allowed to feel," he said. "Right now she can feel whatever is true for her, and whatever that is, it doesn't have to
