When Diana actually took the time to waddle outside of her bedroom and onto the houseboat proper, she usually found Sam leaning on the rail and looking out onto the lake. She lingered in the doorway to the kitchen, clutching the door frame to steady herself. She still wasn't used to living on the water. Thank God I don't get seasick.

It was weird, she thought, watching Sam's back with a frown. He and Caine weren't identical, but something about the way they held themselves was similar. It was too easy to picture Sam's honey-blond hair darkening, his tan skin paling, until it was his twin standing in front of her. They brooded the same way—though Sam probably never brooded about the consequences of trying to conquer everyone in the FAYZ, or any of the myriad screwed-up shit Caine did, Diana thought glumly. No, Sam was the good twin. Noble. Squeaky clean.

She thought about joining him by the rail, out in the sunlight. She'd been holed up in her bedroom for the better half of a week, she figured, though she didn't count the days. Her whole body seemed intent on sabotaging itself; she ached and craved for foods that were impossible to get, her appetite coming and going at all hours. She mostly slept all day, in between frequent waddles to the bathroom to either pee or vomit. It beat working a job like the other kids had to do, but it did get boring. Lonely, too.

Something told her Sam wouldn't want to be disturbed, but Diana joined him anyway, clearing her throat as she came closer. "Hey," she said. Her voice was low; she hadn't spoken to anyone yet today, and it was past noon.

Sam looked around, the grim look on his face clearing. "Hey, Diana." He glanced briefly down at her stomach. "Uh—how are things?"

She resisted the urge to make a joke. Sam had been patient with her, and he obviously didn't want to be disturbed. He deserved a sincere answer. "Fine, thanks." She shifted, unsure of what to say next. The troubled look in his eyes was so much like Caine's, it was distracting. His eyes were a piercing blue, the same color of the sky; it illuminated the golden streaks in his hair. Astrid's a lucky girl, Diana thought, and felt a slightly bitter pang. Of course, it was just her luck she was in love with his sociopathic twin.

Sam nodded and turned back to look at the water. "Good." They lapsed into silence, watching the gentle waves rock the surrounding houseboats and listening to the cries of the faraway gulls. Diana was starting to feel like she should leave when he suddenly spoke again. "Lake Tramonto's pretty different from the island, huh."

"Yeah. A lot." When she first came to the lake, Sam had made a point to not bring up Caine—not to her face, anyway. It was one of the reasons Diana liked him. After a few weeks, though, the question didn't seem too intrusive. A little awkward, maybe, but not offensively so. She decided to elaborate, feeling generous. "Not in a bad way, though. Not at all. The kids here…" She paused, looking out onto the deck of the nearest boat. A kid was leaning over the rail, waving to his friend on the lower deck of the boat across the way. "They really like you. Respect you."

"Well." Sam shrugged, his face darkening a little. "You attract more flies with honey than vinegar, right?"

Diana suddenly felt uncertain. She wasn't used to being on such shaky ground; Caine would have been proud of her acknowledgement of his leadership skills. Expectant of it, in fact—but Sam just seemed stressed.

When he saw Diana looking at him quizzically, he shook his head, tone softening. "I shouldn't complain, though. It was way rougher before. The council helps."

"It's weird how different you two are." The words slipped out before Diana could stop them. She inwardly cringed. Shit. That definitely wasn't the right thing to say.

She braced herself for the potential blow-up, but to her surprise, Sam just gave a wry chuckle. "Yeah. Caine and his whole world domination shtick." He smiled at her. His teeth were white against the tan of his skin; his eyes crinkled up. Diana suddenly felt her face grow warm; Caine had smiled at her like that sometimes, but it never reached his eyes. Even when he was embracing her, lying together in that big silky bed formerly belonging to Jennifer Brattle and Todd Chance, his lazy, contented smile never reached his eyes. "I'm guessing you don't miss it."

Diana heard the caution in his words. He's hoping I don't miss it. She looked away, thinking of the way Caine touched her in that bed, thinking of the feathery softness of Jennifer's robe, thinking of Caine's cold gray eyes.

She touched her swollen stomach and looked out onto the lake again. "No," she said. "I don't."

She was beginning to want her own room. She knew Sam would be in the one they shared, listening to R.E.M. on his iPod and staring at the ceiling. He did that often when he was feeling down. When they were on good terms, Astrid would try to comfort him—now, though, she was in no mood to indulge his sulk. She didn't want to be anywhere near his self-pitying blue eyes, the insolent curve of his lip. Just the thought filled her with anger.

Diana's room was neutral ground. Astrid could hunch over in the wicker chair crammed in the corner and read after giving Diana her dinner. She did that now, passing Sam in the kitchen without looking at him, a tray in her hands filled with a plate of fish and leafy vegetables, a yellowed paperback sitting snugly beside it. Diana sat up when she entered, yawning. "You again," she said, blinking sleepily.

"Me again." Astrid tucked the paperback under her arm with one hand and gave her the tray with the other. She sat down hard on the wicker chair.

"Is it Sam?" Diana asked, moved her food around her plate, head cocked in wry sympathy.

"No." Astrid opened her book and started to read.

"Where'd you go today? I won't tell Sam. Swear to God."

How bored is she? Astrid sighed and lowered her paperback, looking at the stack of books on the bedside table. "Have you started reading those yet?" she asked.

"Two chapters of Madame Bovary this morning. I'll tell you all about it if you tell me all about what's been going on between you two."

Astrid hesitated. It was hard to admit, but there was no one she could talk to who would understand the way Diana would. She had insight others didn't—and it didn't help that Dekka and Edilio had no interest in her and Sam's problems. "This doesn't leave this room," she said slowly.

"Who would I tell?" Diana coyly rearranged her legs under the coverlet.

Astrid straightened her spine. She hoped she wasn't making a mistake. This felt dangerous in a way she'd rarely felt before. It wasn't like she had many friends to bare her soul to in the first place. "Sam and I," she said stiffly, "have been...having difficulties lately. As you probably know."

She paused. Diana looked at her expectantly, and Astrid swallowed. "He's just—I don't know. It's hard to explain." She fiddled with her book, rifling through pages without looking at them, face red as a beet. How could she explain her emotions when she didn't understand them herself? "The only time we get along is when we're...in bed together. Otherwise, I just get so...I keep remembering things he did before I left—kissing Taylor, for instance." Her eyes flashed at the memory. "We were arguing about something petty, something that didn't even matter, and somehow I got angry about it all over again—"

"What was the argument about?" Diana asked as she nibbled a cabbage leaf.

Astrid bit her lip, unsure how much to reveal. "He feels I haven't been spending enough time with him," she admitted. "He says he misses me."

"That sounds like it matters."

Astrid frowned. "I spent weeks alone in the wilderness," she said. "I'm used to being alone. I like it. It clears my head. But he always wants me by him. I can't spend the day away from him without him telling me he missed me."

Diana had a strange expression on her face. "Sounds like he really cares about you," she said softly.

"He does. I know he does, and I know I should be grateful." Astrid knew she was ranting, but she didn't care. "I need space. I need time to process. I can't just go back to the way things were. I can't." Her voice shook a little, and she realized that there was a lump in her throat. She drew herself up and blinked away the tears in her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of Diana Ladris—that was one line she wouldn't let herself cross.

Diana looked at her, frowning. Astrid's stomach dropped when she saw the skepticism on her face. "You think I'm angry about nothing," she said dispiritedly.

"I mean," Diana said, exhaling heavily through her nose, "no offense, but my boyfriend was the type of guy who dangled kids above moving helicopter blades when he got angry. And he only wanted me around so I would eventually screw him. If Sam's a little clingy after you ran away for weeks, I can't blame him."

Astrid resisted the urge to snap something cruel. And whose choice was that to sleep with Caine? It was stupid of her to think Diana would understand. It didn't take a trained psychologist to realize that of course someone as needy and insecure as her wouldn't understand how smothered she felt. She stood up and moved to leave. "Thanks for listening," she said.

"Hold on!" Diana adjusted her position on the bed, wincing. Astrid wondered if the baby was kicking. She stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her. Diana took a deep breath and said, "I'm not trying to be a bitch, but I mean it. Sam's a good person. He loves you, Astrid—really loves you. I can see it in his face whenever he fights with you. I just think—I don't know. Maybe don't fight a good thing." She leaned back into her pillows and added, as if embarrassed by her sincerity, "Or don't. Look how good my last relationship turned out."

Astrid said, with icy politeness, "Thanks for listening, Diana. Sam will pick up your tray soon," then strode out the door and shut it behind her. Diana's advice hadn't helped her emotional state at all. Of course. She shouldn't have expected it to.

But, she reminded herself as she walked onto the deck and felt the night air play through the ragged ends of her hair, she couldn't blame Diana. She hadn't told her everything. But how could she? How could she tell her how disgusted she felt inside after sleeping with Sam, how old warnings about the sinfulness of premarital sex cropped up in her mind and stuck there no matter what she did? The loss of her Christian faith had been the only thing keeping her together after Little Pete's death—to have it flare up now, in bits and pieces, was troubling. It was the constancy of it all, possibly, she thought. The expectation of sex happening semi-nightly. It was exciting, of course, and stimulating in the moment, but afterward, when the heat faded and their bodies lay naked and entangled, Astrid just felt tired and vaguely alienated. Guilty, too. It's wrong, a tiny voice in her head peeped as she tried to fall asleep. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

But she couldn't refuse Sam. He would never actively force her, of course, but if she stopped having sex with him, she'd lose the only thing that still kept them together. He would shut down, become distant, maybe even break up with her and find solace in some other girl far more willing to put out on a regular basis. And that couldn't happen. Astrid needed her and Sam to be together; she needed it just as much as he did. They were a couple. They were the parents of the FAYZ. Being together meant they weren't alone. It meant safety and security and familiarity.

She slipped into her and Sam's room. "Astrid?" Sam sat up. His eyes were soft, remorseful. Tinny music emanated from his earbuds.

"What are you listening to?" she asked, moved by the look in his eyes, the dark night, the warm bed and the body occupying it. She cursed herself, knowing she'd feel guilty before dropping off to sleep, missing the times when prayer and recitations were good distractions from her desire. She'd been so innocent then.

"Weezer." Sam took his earbuds out. "Listen, Astrid—I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so...controlling. You can go wherever you want, I don't care. I'm just not sure helping Orc get religion is a good thing." He looked at her carefully, eyes full of concern. "You know, with...Little Pete and everything. It might bring up feelings that you've already gotten over."

Astrid was stiff listening to him speak. Sam had been asking where she went off to that question for the past week. She'd finally answered him, and he'd reacted exactly how she thought he would—with incredulity and a kind of self-conscious embarrassment. He'd asked how long it'd been going on. He'd asked, jokingly, if he should be worried. Harmless questions, but they didn't feel harmless coming out of Sam's mouth—not to Astrid, anyway. She'd snapped at him, asking why he cared in the first place, insisted that she didn't have to be glued to his lips every second of the day, that perhaps she had priorities other than him. The argument had started from there.

She'd overreacted, she knew, but his comments sent her insides burning. Astrid was trying to be good. She was trying to help someone she cared about—someone who needed her—and here Sam was, poking around in her business, grilling her with questions about what she did all day and acting like she was engaging in sly or deceptive or unhealthy behavior when she told him. There was nothing wrong with helping Orc read the Bible, she thought. He'd asked her specifically, after all, and it'd be rude to refuse.

"I appreciate the concern, Sam," Astrid replied, crossing her arms, "but I can decide for myself whether I want to take that risk. And I do. It's important to me." She couldn't explain why—maybe because she didn't really know—but it was true.

Sam nodded. "I trust you." He held out his arms for her, eager, wanting...and Astrid, easing off her shorts and T-shirt, went to him.