Reading on, he was also grateful she’d spared the revelation of any bedroom secrets . . . then, oh drek! Wrong again. He just hadn’t read far enough. Serrin felt a desperate and wretched sadness, not because the story was savage or brutal, a hatchet job or full of complete lies—but because it wasn’t. Maybe he’d have found some consolation in cursing her as a lying slitch. But even that she’d stolen from him.