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“I remember Goldilocks,” she said softly. “And I remember Cinderella. And Sleeping Beauty. I remember all those fairy tale princesses who were surely happy wherever they were, because they had their princes with them.”

Chay gathered her to him.

“Trust me, baby,” he said in a husky whisper. “I am light-years away from being a prince—but you are a princess straight out of any one of those stories.”

Bianca rose to him and kissed him.

“Aren’t you going to show me the rest of your house, Chayton?” She smiled. “Especially, if it isn’t too much trouble, the bedroom?”

Chay kissed her, swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

• • •

“I,” Chay announced a while later, “am starving!”

As if in response, Bianca’s stomach growled.

He laughed, tipped her face up to his, and kissed her.

“I take it that was a yes.”

“It certainly was.”

“Okay.” He got up, stepped into his jeans, pulled on his T-shirt. “How about we get some food? Takeout okay? Pizza. Chinese. Thai. You name it, I’ll find it.”

“Do you have anything we could throw together?” Bianca zipped her jeans and smoothed down her shirt. “I’d rather stay right here, if that’s all right with you.”

He smiled. “It’s great with me. Let’s raid the kitchen and see what we can come up with.”

What they came up with, according to Bianca, was a feast.

Steaks in the freezer. Idaho potatoes in the cupboard. A big Maui sweet onion. A couple of newly ripened tomatoes on the kitchen windowsill. And, in the fridge, romaine lettuce and a few bottles of ale.

“Sorry, honey. No vino. We’ll pick up some tomorrow.”

She smiled as he kissed her shoulder on his way past her to the charcoal grill on the deck.

Tomorrow, Bianca thought.

What a nice word.

She’d wake up in this house tomorrow. Wake up in her lover’s arms. They’d make breakfast together. Go shopping together. Return here, to their private world, together.

It all sounded wonderful—as long as she didn’t think about the—the artificialness of it.

Was there such a word? Or was the word artificiality? If not, there should be. Because it described things perfectly.

This wasn’t a lovers’ tryst. It was a necessary step in the process of finding the person who wanted to hurt her. She knew, without question, that Chay would find him. That Chay would keep her safe until he did.

And that once all that was done, this—this lovely interlude would end.

“Hey.”

She looked up from the onion she was slicing. Chay reached for her hand.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.