DAMIAN
Liliana. Her name sticks in my mind like a thorn.
No matter how much I try to drown myself in work, she's there. Green-eyed, sharp-tongued and impossible to forget. She's the fire I don't want to touch but can't seem to step away from.
I don't want to do this having just lost something precious to me, yet I want to be scorched by her. Is this also another craving of my twisted soul?
When a servant had delivered her test results from the doctor, I felt a tightening in my chest that I refused to name.
The thought of her being pregnant for her late husband shouldn't have mattered. But it did. Alice's observations had planted the idea and I'd convinced myself I didn't care either way.
Then I saw the report. A mild flu. Not pregnant. Relief hit me harder than I wanted to admit
