Even in the past, I had never been a fan of my parents’ stuffy annual Christmas party. It was less about goodwill toward men and more about how my father’s votes could be influenced, or dare I say bought. All the finest local society families would be there, each trying to outdo the others with expensive overseas trips or glittering diamonds. To prove that we were the picture-perfect all-American family, my older sister, Lenore, and I, in our glittering party dresses, would be prevailed upon to perform for the guests. Although we had usually practiced for weeks, we would pretend to be totally caught off guard when the request came through. I would take my seat at the piano to play while Lenore’s operatic voice would regale the guests.

And after my kidnapping, I dreaded the party even more. I didn’t like crowds, least of all crowds filled with men, most of whom were strangers. At each unfamiliar face, it was as if, for a split second, I could see my captors looming over me. The only time I had felt safe and like my old self in a crowd was when I had been with Rev and his brothers.

Just the thought of Rev caused my chest to tighten with the familiar grief-stricken pain. Lifting the hem of my emerald green dress, I began making my way down the stairs. When I got to the bottom, I drew in several deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves. Slowly, I began to advance through the crowd.

Men tipped their heads at me while ladies gave me forced smiles. No one bothered to cease their conversations to speak to me formally or engage me in a discussion, for which I was relieved. I would make my obligatory rounds so my mother would get off my back, and then I would disappear back upstairs.

As a waiter went past me in his white tails, I grabbed a champagne flute off his tray. After taking a sip, I turned around to see a woman staring expectantly at me. “Hello,” I said.

“Hello. You’re one of the Percy girls, aren’t you?”

I forced a smile to my face. “Yes, I am.”

The woman wore a curious expression. “Are you the lawyer or the one who got kidnapped into sex slavery?”

Both stunned and appalled by the audacity of her question, I merely opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water, gasping for air. The sounds of the party ground to a halt, and I could hear the drumbeat of my heart pounding in my ears. I had to get away. “Excuse me,” I muttered as I brushed past her.

As I rushed through the crowd, the world around me became a colorful blur. Unable to get through the crowd to the stairway, I made a beeline for the veranda instead. Heedless of the cold, I threw open the doors and rushed outside. I stalked to the iron porch railing, gripping the metal between my hands to steady me. My breath came in rushed pants.

“Annabel?”

The sound of the voice caused my heart to shudder to a stop. I gripped the railing even harder; otherwise my knees would have buckled, sending me crashing to the marble floor. For a moment I feared I had finally cracked, lost my mind. After all, that seemed to be the only explanation for why I was hearing his voice. He couldn’t possibly be here.

Slowly, I turned around. When I saw him standing before me, I once again grew weak in the knees. My hands flew to cover my mouth to muffle the shocked scream. Over the last few months I had envisioned what seeing him again might be like, what I would feel. But nothing I had imagined or fantasized could quite live up to the reality of seeing Reverend Malloy standing before me.

His shoulder-length hair was swept back into a neat ponytail, his handsome face was still clean-shaven, but the most arresting detail of his appearance was the close-fitting black tux he wore. He radiated the air of a distinguished gentleman. Only I knew that beneath the fine lines of the tux were the intricate lines of his tattoos.

Shaking my head, I tried to extract myself from my stupor. Without even a hello, I demanded, “What are you doing . . .? How did you . . .?”

“I made a last-minute donation to your father’s reelection campaign.” He took a few tentative steps toward me. With a twinkle in his blue eyes, he added, “They really should be a little more careful about who they let in here.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I murmured.

“Part of me feels the exact same way.” He glanced down at his tux. “This is actually my first time in a monkey suit.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Well, no one would ever know by the way you’re wearing it.” I smiled ever so slightly. “You look good. You really do.”

His wonderfully reverent gaze held mine. “I could say the same about you.” His eyes then raked the length of my body. “You look so beautiful tonight.”

I laughed. “I do clean up nicely from time to time.”

Rev shook his head, a determined expression on his face. “You’re always beautiful, but tonight . . . in that dress with your hair pulled back”—he sighed—“you take my breath away.”

His words sent tingling sparks down my spine and throughout my limbs. “Thank you,” I replied breathlessly.

An awkwardness I’d never faced with him before hung heavy between us. To ease the tension, I asked, “How’s Poe?”

A genuine smile filled Rev’s face. “He’s great. He’s grown like a weed, and he took to the woods like second nature. Of course, Deacon likes to call him a pussy because he comes back every day to get the corn we leave for him.”

I giggled at Deacon’s summation. Reaching into his suit pocket, Rev pulled out his phone. “I have some pictures of him.”

“You do?”

Pink tinged Rev’s cheeks as he came even closer to me—so close I could smell his delicious scent. The one that used to bring me such comfort. When he held out his phone, my shaky hands reached for it.