Watching Gabriel ascend the stairs after my father, my heart just about stops. I know he’s about to be quizzed on my behaviors again, and it gives me a raw, ugly, vulnerable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It doesn’t matter that, at this point, Gabriel’s got as many secrets from my father as I do. He’s not me. If he has an indiscretion, it doesn’t reflect poorly on my father the way mine do.

Besides, Gabriel’s a man, and in my father’s reasoning, men aren’t to blame when they give in to temptation. Women are to blame for tempting them in the first place, which is why I wear ugly sacks, pantyhose, and extra-large t-shirts everywhere I go.

My father’s got money and power. I don’t know why exactly Gabriel is on leave from the Secret Service or how that led to him being here, but I know my father’s influence is the ticket to him getting his old life back.

All I’ve got, to put it very bluntly, is a vagina, and I’m pretty sure someone who looks like Gabriel can find a willing one of those just about anywhere he looks.

I want to trust him. My gut says to trust him. But I don’t know if that’s smart.

They’re up there for twenty minutes. I take out my frustrations on bread dough, kneading it until my arms ache and my face is red from exertion. My little sister Joy looks at me funny, but she doesn’t say anything. No one else seems to notice.

I shove the bread dough into three separate bread pans, open the hot oven, and shove them in. Just as I’m putting the last loaf in, there’s a voice behind me.

“Need help?” Gabriel asks.

I jump, stand too fast, and my left forearm just above the oven mitt touches red-hot metal.

I yelp in surprise and pain, and everyone in the kitchen turns and looks at me.

“Are you okay?” Joy asks, standing at the sink, the water running.

I just look at the shiny, burned patch of skin, still surprised.

“I think so?”

“You need to run cool water on that,” Gabriel says, and gently takes my other arm. He pulls me away from the oven and closes the door. As I walk to the sink, Joy backing away, it finally starts to hurt.

I’d almost forgotten how bad burns hurt, and I bite my lip, shaking the oven mitt off my hand. Gabriel’s still got a hand on my shoulder as he adjusts the water temperature, checks it, and I plunge my forearm under.

I exhale with instant relief. Gabriel takes his hand from my shoulder, and my mom and other sister go back to what they were doing. Joy’s still standing there, eyes wide, like she’s not sure what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that, I thought you heard me.”

I shake my head, turning my forearm back and forth under the water.

“Just jumpy,” I say, and glance at him, even though Joy’s watching.

I think Gabriel knows why I’m jumpy, but neither of us says anything. After a few minutes, he grabs a kitchen towel and runs it under the cool water, then sits me down at the kitchen table, the damp towel on my burn.

My mother glances over, and maybe I’m imagining things, but I think she looks suspicious. I straighten my back and make sure I’m not within a foot of touching Gabriel.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs again. “I really didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It was just clumsiness,” I say, glancing up at his face. “Not your fault. You didn’t push me into the oven, you know.”

“But I can still apologize, right?” he asks. There might be a hint of a smile around his eyes, or I might be imagining it.

“Well, have you got something to apologize for?” I ask.

I don’t think we’re talking about the accidental burn any longer.

I glance over at my mother and sisters, but my mother is scolding Pearl for making lumpy gravy, and Joy has the water in the kitchen sink running as she stares out the window, daydreaming.

“Only for scaring you,” he says, the smile around his eyes deepening, his voice lowering even further. “Like you just said, I didn’t actually do anything.”

Relief washes through me. He didn’t tell my father what I’ve been up to, even though it probably would have been good for him.

“If you didn’t do anything, don’t apologize,” I say.

“I did get you something,” he says.

I glance over. They’re still scolding, sulking, and daydreaming.

“You did?”

Gabriel just nods.

“That feel any better?” he asks, his voice louder now. I’ve got a feeling he’s not just asking about the burn.

“I think I’ll be okay,” I say.

* * *

“Ruby,” my father says, his voice carrying down the table. From the way he says my name, I can tell it’s not the first time he’s tried to get my attention, but I’ve been spacing out for the past few minutes.

I swallow green beans and smile.

“Yes, father?”

“Kyle Pickett approached me today after the sermon,” he says, cutting a chunk of roasted chicken and stabbing it with his fork. The motion is technically polite and genteel, but there’s a force behind it that’s anything but.

I rest my hands on the edge of the table as my stomach begins to twist inside me. Any time Kyle talks to my father it can’t be good for me.

“Did he?” I ask, voice neutral, since he’s clearly waiting for a response.

“He asked my permission to take you to Rosalie’s for dinner on Tuesday night,” he says, and puts the bite of chicken into his mouth.

It feels like everyone at the entire table holds their breath as he chews.

“I accepted on your behalf. Kyle’s a godly, upstanding man, the missteps of his youth aside,” he goes on, slipping into lecture mode. “He has many good qualities to recommend him, and I think he could be an excellent match for you.”

I look down at my plate of food, cheeks flaming. Everyone here knows what my father really means, even if he won’t say it in front of everyone.

When he says Kyle could be an excellent match, he means Kyle’s the only one willing to take you, and a woman of your age should be married.

I force myself to smile and look my father in the eye. He can probably tell that it’s fake, but it’s the best I can do right now.

“Thank you, father,” I say, keeping my voice soft. “I’m so glad to have you looking out for me.”

I don’t mean a single word of it, but I’m doing what I have to. There are options besides going on a date with Kyle, sure, and believe it or not they’re all much, much worse than suffering through nachos.

I lift my hands to my plate again and keep eating mechanically. I’m not hungry at all, but I have to act normal right now, so I keep chewing and swallowing the suddenly-flavorless meal.

My father changes the dinner topic to politics. Specifically, he and my brothers James, Jr. and Daniel discuss whether the U.S.’s most recent talks with Israel are likely to usher in the End of Days and the Rapture. They hope so. I don’t.

As they talk, I glance over at Gabriel by accident, and his eyes flick to me for just a second. I wish I could tell him that I’m sorry about Kyle, that going on a date with him is the last thing I want. That I’m just doing this for survival and I’d just rather be with him on the dirt floor of a barn, but I’ve got no idea what Gabriel thinks about all this.

For all I know, the kiss was a mistake and he doesn’t want to get involved in this mess. If he didn’t, I wouldn’t blame him.

* * *

After dinner, I’m so preoccupied with Kyle that I almost forget that Gabriel has something for me, and I don’t know what. It’s not until I’m alone in the kitchen with my mother, doing the dishes and tidying for the morning, that I remember.

And I have an idea. I straighten the tablecloth on the kitchen table, then put my hands on my hips, frowning theatrically at the vase of flowers sitting on it.

I sigh. My mother finally looks over.

“These are getting old,” I say, sounding as displeased as possible.

She glances at them.

“I’ll send Pearl to get fresh ones from the garden tomorrow,” she says.

I grab the vase instead and examine the flowers like I’m a jeweler looking for imperfections.

“I’ll go get new ones now,” I say. “These are dying, and they smell funny, and it’s a nice night. Besides, I could use some practice with arranging them.”

My mother looks very, very skeptical, so I smile at her and hope it works.

“You know, if I’m going to be going on dates with Kyle,” I say, hoping she picks up on my hint.

Dates mean a relationship, an engagement, and — sooner rather than later — a marriage. And, above all else, my mother tends to blame my poor household management skills for my failed marriage.

As if being able to arrange flowers well would have made Lucas less gay.

Finally, she nods once and turns back to polishing the kitchen counters. I grab some shears and a basket, push the kitchen door open, greeted by the cool night air, and take a deep breath. It’s starting to smell like fall, just the barest hint of brittle leaves and wood smoke in the air.

I toss the flowers into the compost, dump out the water, and then stroll into the garden. I don’t actually give a crap about whether the flowers were old or not, but it’s dark outside and Gabriel has already headed to the carriage house for the night.

I saw him looking at me last night from his window, so I know he watches sometimes. Hopefully he’s paying attention now and he’ll come out, say hi, and we’ll have a perfectly dark-but-above-board conversation.

Roses, snapdragons, marigolds, zinnias. A whole bunch of flowers I can never keep straight, except they’re mostly pretty, and my mother and sisters all seem to know how to make them look fantastic and I don’t.

I turn the corner into the vegetable garden, around some tall-but-nearly-dead tomatoes, and I hear a door shut, so I kick the tomato trellis, making it shake a little.

It works, because a few moments later, Gabriel’s standing at the end of the row, his hands in his pockets. He’s out of his work clothes, just wearing jeans and a t-shirt that says Great Smoky Mountains National Park on the front, his muscles practically bulging out of it.

I swallow hard, fire suddenly snaking through my body, winding lower and lower. With everything that’s happened I’d somehow forgotten the sheer, total lust he unfailingly inspires in me. I’d somehow forgotten how hard it can be to talk to him alone without wanting him to push his hands up my skirt, his lips on my neck.

“Lovely night,” I say, nervous again, but for a completely different reason this time. “Nice time to pick flowers, don’t you think?”

He glances up at the house, searching the windows for activity, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few envelopes, steps closer to me, and holds them out.

I can barely read the writing on them, but I can tell they’re from my stalker. The handwriting matches.

“I already stole some,” I admit, not taking them.

“Not these,” Gabriel says, his voice low and gravelly. “If you think it’s your father writing them, you haven’t read these.”

He sounds so grave and serious that I believe him completely. I take the letters, glance back at the house, then lift my shirt slightly above the waist of my skirt.

“Don’t watch,” I whisper, teasing. “I’m being indecent.”

I push them into the top of my pantyhose, half an inch of my stomach exposed. Gabriel doesn’t look away, just grins, watching me.

“You’re probably going to Hell now,” he deadpans.

“If I am, this wasn’t the tipping point,” I say, smoothing my shirt back over the envelopes squashed against my skin. If I have to wear the uncomfortable, deeply unflattering combination of pantyhose and extra-large t-shirts, at least it’s a good outfit for hiding contraband letters.

“The witchcraft was probably the tipping point,” he agrees, crossing his arms in front of him. “Or whatever you use white, translucent crystals for.”

“They’re how I get men to lie to my father on my behalf, apparently,” I say. “The spells seem to be working.”

I pause for a moment. Gabriel smiles.

“Thanks, by the way,” I say.

“I already told you, I’m not gonna make your life harder,” he says. “Though, Ruby, I should warn you. Those letters have some fucked up shit in them. Fucked up shit about you. I understand why your father doesn’t want you to read them, and I hate being the one to give them to you, but… you should. You deserve to know what’s happening.”

I swallow.

“That bad?” I ask.

“Pretty bad,” he admits, his hands back in his pockets. “Ruby, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He raises one eyebrow slightly, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I’ll be as sorry as I want,” he says, and I laugh quietly.

“This is where you make your big stand?” I tease. “On feeling bad that I’ve got a stalker?”

Gabriel glances quickly at the big house, then back at me, still smirking.

“I feel like a neutered housecat around here and it’s driving me crazy,” he says, his voice gone low and growly. “I’ve got to stand firm on something.”

I raise both eyebrows.

“Neutered?”

The second that’s out of my mouth, my face heats up, and Gabriel grins.

“Just metaphorically,” he says. “But you knew that.”

I swallow, anxiety writhing in my chest, because as much as I like this and want him and have desires I’m not sure I completely understand, I don’t know what I’m doing. Flirting with men like this just isn’t in my repertoire.

“I had suspected as—”

I hear a door open, and we both turn our heads, my heart seizing. We’re not doing anything, just talking, but I know that nothing I do is above suspicion, ever.

My mother comes out of the kitchen door, glances around, and finds me. She walks over.

“Ruby!” She says, her usual smile perfectly in place, even as she takes in Gabriel’s muscled, t-shirt-clad form. “Will you make sure to get some camellias? I’m afraid they’ll stop blooming soon and they’re so lovely. Hello, Gabriel.”

“I’ll make sure to get some,” I say, and I know I’m talking a little too fast, but I can’t help it. “Gabriel just saw that I was out here alone and wanted to make sure I was okay.”

My mother’s smile tightens, just a bit.

“You’re so sweet for your concern,” she says, honeyed sweetness dripping from every word. “But I’m sure Ruby is just fine.”

Gabriel ducks his head.

“Of course, ma’am. Have a good night Mrs. Burgess. Ruby.”

“Good night,” my mother says.

He turns and goes back to the carriage house. My mother turns to me, a hardness behind her features that I recognize a little too well.

“Which flowers were you thinking, dear?” she asks.