–Damon–
It astonished me—though nothing she does should astonish me anymore—that Livana sent them ahead to the villa, the stage of our inevitable union, while she and I drifted instead toward the old mansion where her mother once lived and breathed. It was deliberate, as everything she does is deliberate, and yet cloaked in mystery. I follow her without question, because wherever she goes becomes holy ground.
Grandpa Reagan greeted us with the familiar affection of family, and to my surprise, my father-in-law was there as well, with his own parents present. Three generations, all under one roof, watching her. Yet none of them see her as I do. None of them can.
"Liva," Grandma Belinda swept forward, pressing kisses to her cheeks. "Where's your sister?"
"She's busy pampering herself," Livana replied, smiling with all the poise of royalty. That smile—charming, elegant, but cold. A smile meant to appease, never to reveal. "I'm here to fetch my cello."
