The morning of the ball arrived, bringing with it a flutter of nerves in Anaisa's stomach. Her dreams were still terrible–evidence that Trace had kept away from them–and she stretched her tired limbs.
She'd considered asking her husband to give her good dreams again, but she wasn't sure, for one thing, that she wanted to invite and condone the invasion he'd done before. Secondly, laying her heart's desires open to him, willingly, felt utterly vulnerable.
As long as he held his secrets from her, she hesitated to give him permission to access what was deepest inside her.
A logical part of her brain argued back that he'd probably seen as much as he was likely to, and that she wasn't resting well without him. She would need all the rest she could get to do well at the ball, wouldn't she?
She'd changed her mind a dozen or more times, but it was too late for that now. The ball was tonight!
