"Letter?" Leroy asked, his brows knitting together. Her reaction told him this was something far heavier than a trivial message.
"I'll burn it," Lorraine said, her tone soft but unwavering. She was sure that Leroy hadn't gotten to that letter yet.
She shifted, adjusting her position so that he now lay against her chest, not as an invitation of lust, but as an offering of solace and unwavering support.
If he took comfort in her presence, now was the moment to provide it. Her arm came around his neck, cradling him as though anchoring him in safety. Her other hand moved slowly, rhythmically, rubbing his back, soothing the tension he carried like a wound too deep to speak of.
His breath, warm and steady, settled on her chest. Lorraine closed her eyes. She did not want him to read his mother's words; words of betrayal, of partiality, of how she would hand Leroy over to ruin just to shield Gaston.
