Page 17 of Law

The last day she spent with Zane four years earlier, they had stopped at a department store to pick out new ornaments for that year's Christmas. What better way to celebrate Leon Day, the opposite of Noel Day, recognizing they were only half a year away from Christmas. She snapped a silly picture of the two of them, wearing two huge mismatched ornaments as earrings. Zane donned a Christmas stocking as a hat, and they both made goofy faces.

That picture, encased in a large gold frame, was the only item on Zane’s bedside table. Could a heart be filled and broken at the same time? He wouldn’t keep a picture like that by his bed if he hated her. Smudges dulled the frame and glass, fingerprinted evidence that Zane often held that picture.

Turning to Law, she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him, washing away four years of fear and pain with her sobs. Law said nothing; he simply lifted her in his arms, carried her to Zane’s bed, and sat holding her on his lap, rocking her gently and stroking her hair.

She had no idea how much time had passed while she sat on his lap. He didn’t rush her. They sat quietly after her tears stopped before he leaned forward and grabbed a box of tissues from Zane’s desk. Lovie held out her hand, believing he intended to hand the box to her.

Instead, he set the box down on the bed, took a few tissues, and held them to her nose. “Blow,” he said.

She pulled back and stared at him. Was he crazy? “Uh, no, thank you. I can do it.”

He pulled the tissues back. “Yes, but you’re not going to.”

When she lowered her hand -more out of shock than from compliance- he pressed the tissue to her nose again and repeated, “Blow.”

“I don’t want to. That’s gross.”

He didn’t respond. Holding the tissue in place, he waited, his eyes challenging her to outlast him. She had no illusions about winning the battle of wills that ensued, but battle they did until she predictably surrendered.

“Fine. But it’s still gross.”

“It’s not gross,” he said as she blew her nose into the tissues he held. “It’s you making me feel better by letting me take care of you. There. All done.” He stood, helping her to her feet and leading her by the hand back to the hall. “Three rooms left, which I cleverly named the Blue Room, the Pink Room, and the Green Room. Which would you like?”

Glancing back at Zane’s black bedspread, she took a wild stab in the dark. “Let me guess. Zane chose the Black Room.”

“I see that you're clever as well. What will it be?”

“I think I’ll go with the Green Room.”

His broad smile signaled approval of her choice. “Good girl. The green room is at the end of the hall. You can unpack and freshen up while I make us a quick lunch. After that, I have a game for us to play.”

Excitement sparkled in his eyes at the mention of playing whatever game he had in mind. She smiled. He was likely more of a chess player than a checker player. It was good that she liked both.

“Are there any foods you don’t like to eat?”

Looking down, she patted the rounded contours of her hipsand bottom. “Does it look like there’s anything I don’t enjoy eating?”

His smile vanished. “I beg your pardon?”

Yikes! Okay then. Not a fan of self-deprecating humor. “Oh, um, sorry. I just meant?—”

“I know what you meant, Lovelyn. That’s one.”

The dark, growly voice had her bottom clenching. Was it hot in there? Because she suddenly felt the urge to melt into a puddle of need. “O-ne? Wh-what do you mean, that’s one? One what?”

“One warning. You do not have permission to speak negatively about yourself in any manner, especially regarding your appearance. I wouldn’t let anyone else say things like that about you, and I’m not about to let you do it, either. That’s even worse.”

“How is that worse?”

“Because you have at least some defenses against what other people say. If you’re telling yourself those lies, you subconsciously accept them without question. Don’t do it again.”

“But… but I didn’t mean anything. It was a joke.”

“Lying takes you directly to three, fairy cat. I’d be careful. You don’t know me well enough yet to reach three.”

All the moisture in her mouth and throat vanished. Well, not vanished, just moved lower in her body. Much, much lower.

But his voice was so stern. And that look on his face had to be the look she always read about in her books. It was the quintessential Daddy glare, and that was her only explanation for what happened next.

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