It was silent in the gallery—no orchestra, no fireworks, no whir of generators and cameras. The only sounds were her breath and his, just Bea and the man she loved. He wasn’t a fantasy, he wasn’t a dream, and he wasn’t a happy ending. He was warmth and wit and kindness, a certainty and a surprise. He was the person who could hurt her most in the world, and he was worth the risk.
