Rain always stops eventually.
I sat in the sunroom, my brush sweeping golden wheatfields across the canvas. Outside, Oliver trimmed olive trees, humming an off-key Italian folk tune.
My brush froze mid-stroke.
[The trial's started!]
[Say what you want, but Dominic went after Aurora for Clara!]
[How long's that evidence gonna put him away for? I'm freaking out!]
Comments swarmed my vision like locusts. I closed my eyes, dipped my brush in turpentine, and cleaned it with steady hands.
"You okay?" Oliver stepped inside, dirt smudged on his hands.
I shook my head, but then his tablet on the table pinged with a news alert.
"Prominent entrepreneur Dominic faces trial today for aggravated assault…"
Oliver shut it off quick, but I'd already glimpsed him—Dominic in a gray prison jumpsuit,
