"Oh, I—" Padma paused. "Yes, but I took some time off recently." Neville had told everyone at work that she had the flu, and they'd seemed to buy it. "Kept mostly to my flat, getting back on my feet," she explained, realizing belatedly that she sounded a bit vague. "I wasn't well," she added lamely, clearly uncomfortable with lying to him, but, given recent circumstances, unwilling to be completely honest. Short of Michael, she barely trusted anyone, especially after Anthony had kept from her the things that he did.
She glanced down at the book, watching the way his finger traced over the spine, and wishing for all the world that it was light reading. "It's an interesting subject," she managed, voice dipping a bit in volume as she realized, once again, how unready she was to be in public again. Why had she thought she could function normally? She felt like she was obvious, that it was clearly read on her face just what had happened to her, how she'd let herself be used and taken advantage of, again. How could she have let some brute of a man take something from her without her permission for the second time in her life? Was she that weak?