“But practical,” he responded. “It will keep us fed. And that way we can save the dry goods.”

“True.”

“How are we going to grill sausages?”

“I have an idea,” he said.

He took a rack out of the oven, and a large skillet, and they went upstairs where he was able to, at great personal risk, shove the rack into the fireplace and place it on a ledge. Then he put the skillet on top and put the sausages in there.

“This is almost civilized,” she said.

“Very nearly,” he agreed.

They sat for a moment, regarding the food. Her stomach growled. She had that peanut butter and jelly not that long ago, but she felt like the sense that she was in a survival situation had created a bit of a psychosomatic sense that she might be starving.

Maybe she wasn’t great in a crisis. She had never really thought about it one way or the other before. But now it mattered. She felt somewhat galled by the realization. That many of the things Dario had said to her over the years that felt mean were a little bit true. She had been sheltered. A little bit cosseted even, and while she had gone out on her own and done a certain number of things, she had a very large safety net. Always and ever. A big backup generator, as it were. And it had never failed her, unlike the one here.

She had felt like it did, because it had felt like her father was being unkind to her by selling the company to Dario. Which maybe wasn’t fair. She didn’t actually want the company. She wanted her father to...be proud.

She had tried. She had tried to be...Dario. But she wasn’t.

“Is something wrong?”

His voice was dark as velvet. Just as soft. It scraped over her skin in the most deliciously uncomfortable way, and she felt like a different person, here in the silence of this house. Surrounded by snow, surrounded by him.

Normally, she would be sharp with him. Normally, she wouldn’t try to see him as a person. She had seen him primarily as an obstacle, and then as an obstacle that made her feel prickly and uncomfortable as she had gotten older.

But not now. He wasn’t an obstacle now. He was helping her, and unfortunately, she was also seeing new things about herself thanks to him.

It was not comfortable.

“What if I’m not as good at all of this as you and my father are? What does that say about me? And what does it say about my representation offeminism?”

“Who says you have to represent anything? You are not all women. You are simply you. And also, it is not about being good enough. Perhaps it is only that you are different. I couldn’t design furniture. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Well, my father doesn’t esteem my ability to do that, maybe that’s the problem.”

He paused for a moment. “And yet what you do is esteemed, appreciated, or you wouldn’t have clients.”

“I don’t have enough clients.”

“For what?”

“For...for anyone to take me seriously.” It sounded so small. But it felt so big.

“There are many people on the streets who want what I have. The truth is, I was bound and determined to make a certain thing of myself. I believe that I had advantages, even in my disadvantages. I am not a vain man, Lyssia, but I am not unaware of the fact that I’m handsome. And that I have used that as a tool. I have an easy time connecting with people, telling them exactly what they want to hear in the voice they want to hear it in. It is not a moral failure if you have not risen from the streets to have a billion dollars.”

“What about rising from one billion dollars to having something of your own.”

“That isn’t a moral failure either.”

“It feels like it.”

“Your father was born rich. He built on what he had, and it is well done. You are not the same person that he is, that doesn’t mean you aren’t as good. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t successful. You’re twenty-three years old. You’re allowed to take some time to figure out which path you want to walk.”

“There are literal chat forums on the internet about how I’m losing at the easiest setting of life.”

“And what does it matter if strangers think you’ve failed when you haven’t?”