Librería Samer Atenea
Kálamo Books
Librería Elías (Asturias)
Librería Kolima (Madrid)
Librería Proteo (Málaga)
The flowers were dying and Eve was the only one who could tell.It was the kind of party where nothing was allowed to die - forty floors above the city, in an apartment made almost entirely of glass. The peonies on the long table had been cut that morning and flown in from somewhere that still had summer, and to everyone in the room they looked perfect. Blush-heavy. Half-open. Expensive.But Eve had arranged flowers for eleven years - for weddings, for funerals, and for the parties of people who confused the two - and she could see what the room could not: that the peonies had been cut a day too late, and had opened as far as they were ever going to open.It is a small talent. It is the only one anybody has ever let her have.Then she marries into the family that owns the glass. Into an apartment where nothing is permitted to die. Beside a man whose first wife has been dead three years and is still, in every way that matters, sitting in the chair by the window.Everyone in that house has agreed on what happened to her.Eve can see where the story was cut a day too late.The question is what she is going to do about it.
