Bianca
The sitting room was warm now, the fire that Benjamin had built crackling in the hearth. Even now, with most of the furniture—aside from the two antique brocade armchairs we were sitting in—still covered in dusty white sheets, I could picture a warm and merry house that was once full of life and laughter.
Benjamin poured himself a glass of dark amber liquor from a previously unopened but very dusty bottle he’d found behind the large mahogany bar against the wall, then gestured to me. I shook my head and patted my belly, and his face softened. “Sorry. I forgot for a moment.”
I snorted. “I almost forget sometimes, too,” I admitted. Unless I was more than twenty yards away from Isaac, in which case the baby made certain I physically couldn’t forget.
Benjamin studied me
