Page 116 of The Language of Love

So, it doesn’t really matter that she is a liar, then?

Henry scowled into the darkness. Where have you been? Never mind. Go back there.

Mocking laughter echoed in his head, dimming the glow of happiness. He tried to hang on, to grab back the joy—like a child clutching at a favorite toy—but the contentment he’d been feeling ebbed away.

Are you happy now?

But his imaginary friend had sown doubt and fled.

Annis shifted in his arms, her slender body going stiff, her breathing suddenly harsh and rasping. “No, Richard… please, don’t tell. I can’t—I can’t…”

The rest of what she said was too garbled, but her voice pulsed with raw terror, and it sounded as if she was forcing them through clenched jaws.

Henry frowned. Richard? Can’t what?

She moaned and thrashed in his arms.

“Annis?” he whispered, pulling her closer. “You’re having a nightmare.”

She struggled against him for half a heartbeat and then went boneless in his arms.

“Annis?”

But she slept on, her breathing slowly returning to normal.

What was that all about? What, exactly, had Richard done to her?

She made a soft whimpering noise and burrowed back against him, her bottom grinding against him in a way that ensured Henry didn’t sleep anytime soon.