caroline’s head tipped back, just enough to hold the woman’s gaze and still be able to keep her close. so close that she felt her breath gracing her cheeks, smell the mixture of cigarettes and champagne that soon enough became the american’s drug of choice. sweet, positively intoxicating —- and she thought about stealing a kiss or two. because what would be the harm in that?

❝ i’m not like other people. ❞ but hadn’t she noticed by then? a lonely woman, touched by sorrow, hanging on to her fragile sanity as though her very life depended on it. broken, a victim of unspeakable evil — if anyone understood the meaning of the word loss, it was caroline hubbard. ❝ i know what i want, and i like what i like. is there a problem with that, fräulein? ❞