n and Susan Charles flash ac

il the paparazzi mistake for camera glare but

, where she poses in threadbare cotton

w clamor for "Susan-core"-designers stitch fake ragged pat

mach: "Hilton Heir Splurges Mil

reports piled like a pyramid, then shatters the table whe

molten gold as he pins a healer by the throat

ania of a werewolf desp

of madness i

ne my flute, tattooing my name over his heart-were just hi

to think I

, my brother's h

ivate air ambulance with a trauma te

to my cheek: "I'm taking you

ke ash on his

from the streets, but he'

own his kindness

ies my ID-she remembers the tabloid sto

ts: diamond chokers that once graced my ne

s, they gleam like the f

a half-knitted scarf, charcoal sketches of his sleeping

Alex kneeling on the floor, carefully folding these "trash

st playing the part o

rway, Susan tucked under

as he catches the sc

I say, not

merald bracel

my wrist on our wedding eve: "Thi

es it before

san trails me, fingernails

walk-in closet, jealo

still lurking?

n her hand, missing the p

celet on the floor,

e; my forehead splits on a marble step, b

Susan's scraped knee, his pupil

vibrating: "She said I wasn't fit to wear H

bores into me

, where a silver-tipped cane whistles t