There was something wary in his gaze—and something unspeakably sad. Her blood thrummed in her veins. “Well?” “Your scars are awful,” he said, almost whispering. She put a hand on a hip and walked to the dressing room door. “We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most. Sit there if you like, but I’m going to get dressed.” She strode from the room.
