Alexandra yanked herself out of his grasp with such force that she momentarily stumbled. The slap hadn't healed her wounded heart, it hadn't taken away the years she spent mourning alone or the blame she ran so ferociously from. Nothing would ever take that pain away, just as nothing would ever bring Frederick back.

Still, it felt good — relieving almost — to lash out at Philip, to shift some of that blame from herself to him however temporarily. And so, rather than scream or argue or cry, Alexandra took his barbed words for what they were: an invitation.

Her hand still stung as she lurched forward to pummel her fists into his chest, her arms pounding wildly and without any real target.

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