When Ruelle woke up, she felt her head pound. For several seconds she stared at the ceiling, and when she attempted to sit upright, the room spun enough that she dropped back onto the mattress.
"Don't tell me I caught a cold," she groaned.
Last night she had spent a little too long outside without a coat or scarf. But it hadn't mattered then, as she had loved every second of it with Lucian. With Peyton's delayed return, they had been left alone longer than expected.
The potion Dane had made her sniff hadn't brought back only pleasant memories. Some she would have gladly left buried. Yet she had let them pass, choosing instead to linger on the ones tied to this mansion.
To someone who didn't know Lucian, he appeared cold and untouchable, a man who seemed impossible to move. Yet knowing who he truly was, Ruelle found herself feeling fortunate. And the portrait hanging on the wall didn't do justice to the memories she had seen.
