IE
of me, his broad back a formidable wall. The silence between us was different now. T
car. The solid weight of his arm across my chest. The look of raw
. He turned to look at me, his expression un
me to go ahead. Another small, unexpe
reath and pushe
ing frail. My father, Arthur, sat by her bedside, peeling an
lit up when she
posing figure of Damien Blackwood filling the doorway
ing onto the linoleum floor. He scrambled to his
thur stammered, his head bowed
to offer the same sign of respect, but Dam
like a blow to the chest. I realized then that the weight of
cold, intimidating persona like a second
d his attention to my mother. "Mrs. Parks, I hope
e voice of a perfect gentleman.
stunned by his civility,
t on the bedside table, filled with exotic
ook her hand. It was cold and trem
y on Damien. "I'm fine, sweetheart," she whisper
ldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't add to her bu
didn't interrupt, but his presence dominated the s
retrieve the fallen knife, hi
in charge. "The doctors tell me it's nothing serious. I've arranged for a team
also a declaration. A reminder that our family's fa
so much," my father gushed, h
. We were his possessions. Caged birds in a gilded cage, fed
is suffocating display of power. His politeness, his generosity-they
ing husband in front of my parents. Only I
conversation, Damien suggested we
eyes pleading with me, filled with a mother's lo
us, I felt the last of my
/1/122861/coverbig.jpg?v=28235cff327b89590bbcf41c28907beb&imageMogr2/format/webp)