Publisher's Synopsis
"Snowflake," she said, with what sounded like genuine concern and sincerity, "do you really understand what you're doing here? You're not," she paused, removed her finger, gently stroked a cheek down which a single tear was beginning to roll, intercepted the droplet, pensively licked from palm to fingertip, as though it were an ice cream cone then put her finger back, lest eyes flit or wander. "You're not my first Little Wifey. And," she sighed as if in regret, but with, as well, a rising note of understated sexual menace, "I really don't think you know the places this can. . . take you." The finger under her chin made it difficult to nod and breathing seemed complicated for a whole other set of reasons."I have to do this," she managed to choke out, looking like the little girl who has elbowed her way to the top of the high diving board and, having looked over the precipice, is determined to show how brave and resolute she can be.
