Grace believed him, though she lacked a reason why.
Dominic glanced toward the fireplace, and the severe lines of his face softened. “My wife, Elena, died in a car fire two years ago. Sophie was in the rear seat. She survived because Elena shoved her through a smashed window before the fuel tank ignited.”
Grace’s throat constricted.
“Sophie remembers fragments,” he went on. “Smoke. Heat. Her mother screaming. Since then, every form of solace has failed her.”
“What version did you try?”
He turned back.
Grace regretted the inquiry before he spoke, because the sorrow in his eyes was too exposed for a man of his stature.
“Distance,” he admitted. “Control. Security. Money.”
“And none of that held her when thunder sounded like fire.”
Dominic’s jaw tensed.
“No.”
