Page 95 of A Taste like Sin

actress if you are incapable of feelinganything.”

My moan betrays me as a liar, and then I inhale, fighting for clarity. “Outside of bed,” I blurt.

“Outside… Away from you.”

He goes rigid. Just as doubt creeps in, he molds against me, cradling me in muscle and heat. “I am

content to make you feel,” he concedes. “For now.”

“Oh?”

“One day, I will demand more. But we can save that discussion for another time. Just sleep for now,

sweet girl. I don’t want to tire you out too soon. Sleep.”

And I find it easy to within his arms.

Even as the storm continues to rage around us.

Oddly enough, I don’t feel abandoned or insulted by the empty bed I’ve woken up to. Especially

not when I roll over and find a bouquet of black roses where Damien last slept. I finger a single

stalk and lower my nose to the petals flooding the air with their crisp perfume.

A smile lingers on my lips as I shower and get dressed in a plain gray dress—the closest thing to

black in my wardrobe. While I brush my hair, I make a mental note to remind Damien to have my

things brought over. Though it seems he’s decided to ignore my wishes for now. Instead, I find a white

box placed tauntingly in front of my door. It’s wrapped in a bright-pink bow, dangerously inviting.

My fingers shake as I open it. Inside, I find yards of tulle and lace—a dress made of the thinnest beige

lace imaginable. A skirt of tulle billows from the waist, but the only form of coverage the wearer

might hope to find comes in the form of delicate silk appliqués sewn around the garment.

Flowers. Thousands of them, presumably affixed by hand, spanning nearly every color of bloom

imaginable.

Score one Damien Villa. I can concede defeat in this round. I don’t even know whether to add the

dress to my closet or plant it. I briefly consider trying it on before I finally notice the envelope tucked

inside the box.

Heyworth Thorne could only pray for such a representative,someone wrote in elegant script.

A kind, if bracing reminder of reality.

Returning to my room, I reach for my phone but find no new messages from Diane. By the time I

arrive at the hospital, that familiar weight of dread returns, dragging on my limbs like a lead ball and

chain.