Chapter 40: Anastasia

The silver fork clinks against the rim of the white porcelain plate as my father cuts a thin slice of roast chicken. The dining room is quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of the rain striking the heavy glass panels of the conservatory at the back of the house. Arthur Vancouve sits at the head of the mahogany table, his linen napkin resting flat across his knee. He looks across the polished wood at Luna, who is moving three roasted potatoes around the center of her plate with the tip of her spoon.

"Luna," my father says, his voice carrying the measured tone he uses when he...