Fiona held no sign of resentment in her face, in the dark bedroom her skin practically glowed against the cream and gold headboard of her bed. Her pink lips curved into a pleased smile that didn't really reach her eyes. She had a trick to it too, averting her gaze away from Ciaran, finding a way to look at him without really looking at him.
Inwardly, she seething, rage simmering below the surface. The feeling was simply inadequate to describe how she was feeling.
She might have been fooled into believing that she had been granted a sort of reprieve in the form of a dead girl, that Ciaran felt bore a passing resemblance to her. If the girl had survived, she would have been a new and different kind of addition to their family.
She had seen Ciaran's hard work in how he had shaped
