Sabrina closed her eyes as warm water dripped, mingling the droplets with her tears. Standing there in the warmth, she wished she could wash her heart turmoil with soothing warmth. The echo of Benedict's words clung in her mind; every syllable dug into her hurt soul even further.
She did love him, she reflected, her heart breaking because of the admission. "But does he even care?" Not a whit, it would seem. She could sense the warmth of the bath enveloping her as small comfort, but no heat could numb the chill over marriage the apathy had cast for her. She clenched her fists, letting sadness and hurt into her. But also, she said, determination that churned beneath the surface.
As she scrubbed at her skin, trying to get rid of the leftovers of the evening—the smell of alcohol, the bittern
