I have nowhere to go. Darian has me trapped against the bench.
“Why did you run to Arizona and marry a sixty-year-old widower, Alice?” he asks, his eyes sharp. “Or was he simply your most convenient excuse? Because I don’t believe there ever was a Paul in your life. And if that’s the case, who is the father of your daughter?”
My claws dig into my palm as my pulse races. He figured it out. Mary and I never thought anybody would dig so deep. After all, who does that?!
As far as anybody knew, Paul existed. And in the human world, even if someone were to realize that he was thirty-seven years older than me when we married, they would not think twice about it. After all, age gaps are nothing new or strange. My neighbor was a sweet man. When he passed away, it was Mary who came up with the id
