Nightmares meet her in the night. She cannot touch, cannot love. Remy leaves her bleeding heart on the ground. She wakes with strangled cries, only to find his arms are tight around her, one hand woven into her hair.

“Je t’aime, chère,” he whispers, embracing her. “You’re all right. I got you.”

She clings to him and lets him wash her fear away.

At odd moments during the day, he pulls her to him, tucks her into his arms, his chin on her head, and just holds her. His warm embrace, possessive, comforting, protective, says everything she needs to hear.