Thing of it was, she was even high at the moment, but the emotion still swept through her bones like an unquenchable tide. Sorrow.Somehow things had gotten turned around in her mind. This wasn’t the Palace as Glenn liked to call it. This was feeling like a dungeon next to Jan’s house. She had left the white palace for the dirty dungeon—that’s how it felt and it was making her sick. Worse, she had left a prince for this monster.She’d rolled on the bed and thought about that. The preacher wasn’t her prince. He couldn’t be. They were like dirt and vanilla pudding; you just don’t mix the two. And it was clear who was who.Not that Jan wasn’t a prince—he was; just not her prince. He could never be her lover. Imagine that. What would they say to that? Helen winning the heart of a famous writer who drove around in a white Cadillac. A shy, handsome man with hazel eyes and wavy hair and a real brain under those curls. A real man.Given just the two of them without all this mess around them, she might even have a shot with him.
