She found herself thinking increasingly of Anton Cook, of his sincere and unreserved words in the autumn wind at the Horse Field.
Aubree knew that no matter what choice she made, fate would always circle back to its predetermined orbit.
Because, from the beginning, she didn't have a choice.
The moon hung alone in the tree branches, casting a dim light through the large windows that bathed the bedroom, making every corner vaguely visible.
It was a bedroom meticulously designed for her by Nikita Parker, exuding a young woman's style, yet also showcasing a mother's love for her daughter.
Aubree thought of Peter Aria's warm, comforting palm falling atop her head, filled with fatherly pampering and compassion.
She thought of Anton Cook's gentle and lively gaze when he looked at her.
Suddenly, she laid her hand on the chest.
Feeling the furious beat under her palm.