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