Chapter 7: Sunday at the Green Door

Sunday dinner at the Castellane house had been a family institution for as long as Aria could remember, and war had not been enough to cancel it. The house stood on the hill above the old quarter, a tall brick pile with a green door and a garden full of fig trees her mother had planted. It smelled of garlic and lemon oil and, under both, something she had never been able to name and never stopped...