Tension hung heavy over Roman’s estate, thick as the Louisiana heat. For two days since their spat in the study, Lorraine and Roman had barely exchanged words. Meals had been quiet, his gaze flicking over her like a knife he didn’t mean to draw. She wanted to be angry, but mostly she just felt hollow—because underneath his irritation, she’d glimpsed worry, the kind that cracked through his control.
So when Shanta’s incense-sweet shop door closed behind her and Rhyan, Lorraine let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
Madame Despoina already waited inside, seated like a queen behind the counter. Shanta leaned against the display of oils, arms crossed, eyebrows raised as though she could smell Lorraine’s turmoil.
“You’ve come back with a purpose,” Despoina said.
Lorraine nodd
