He steps back, putting space between us. "Are you besotted by him? By a man you don't know." "I am. He's the only person in my life who impresses me," I lie, but the person who actually impresses me is regarding me, my words displeasing him, and it feels all wrong... and right. I can't think straight. "Even if he is a bad man," I bite out, observing his reaction to my words, "he's better than my mother, than my foster mother. I bet he's never been the victim." He smiles, but it's unfriendly. "Your father doesn't know your dress size. Or that the only time you clean your plate is when you're
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