Fifty-oneLani’s face was pale as she peered up from the crumpled news sheet. The flimsy tissue shook in her hands, and she dropped it to the table as if she’d been contaminated by its contents. She balled her fists.
“That’s so horrible. How can they write such things?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would they do that?”
“They’re trying to damage me by getting at you,” Aristide said.
Aristide ached with his inability to do what he longed to. Reach out, gather her into his arms, soothe and caress her. Tell her everything would be all right.
Instead he sat ramrod-straight across the table from her in the Occidental’s public dining room. Even though the hour was early, the place buzzed with travelers arriving or departing and breakfasting before or after. No one particularly noticed
