“Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony wood,” he reads aloud, lifting his gaze to mine with a knowing smirk. “Is this page marked because where you stopped or because it’s your favorite Grimms’ fairy tale?” “It was my mother’s favorite,” I answer softly, pinpricks running along my spine. “She used to read those to me as a kid.” “Smart woman to raise her daughter not to believe in happy ever afters.”
