Lucia was in Michael's arms, and it felt surreal. She inhaled, taking in the faint scent of soap and musk. She liked it here. She liked the warmth, weight, and security of being there. She wanted to stay there forever, just in his arms, breathing in his scent. If only her stomach would let her. It let out an embarrassingly loud drawn-out sound. She wanted to hide. Why couldn't her stomach find quieter ways to tell her it was empty? She looked up at him sheepishly, and there was an amused smile on his face.
"I need to feed you," he said through a grin. "It's a good thing I was here to wake you up for dinner."
He took her hand and led her out of her room. Lucia recognised these corridors. She became more certain of that as he led her to the living room, where dinner was laid out on the oak table.
"White Rock Island?" she asked as he pulled out a chair for her.
"Yes, it is," Michael told her as she took her seat, and he pushed her in.
