Eighteen
HELEN MANAGES TO MAKE it by 8 a.m. for our meeting with the Archbishop.
When she greets me at the door with a kiss, I know I’m completely forgiven for my ill-conceived attempt at playing the alpha protector of my woman.
“Anything new?” I say as she forks a waffle off the platter in front of her.
“No serial killer showed up last night at my door,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But I did have a problem going to sleep with all the commotion caused by everyone who decided all of a sudden that I’m some poor, defenseless, little flower.”
OK, so maybe not completely forgiven.
“Helen,” Anna says, “now Tom was just trying to make sure you were all right.”
“Thank you, Anna,” I say with a nod.
“I mean, the fact that he’d be no help to you whatsoever in a crisis like tha
