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She shakes her head. “Let’s change the subject.”
    My curiosity piques. She really misses her parents. Why doesn’t she want to talk about them? I reach out with my senses. The door to her memories slams shut.
    “Monroe, no.”
    “Why?”
    “I . . . can’t.”
    What hidden darkness has her so upset?
    “My session begins at three-ten.” She mentally draws back, taking on a professional tone. “It gives the students time to get out of class, go to their lockers, and come here. I’ve four students coming and we end at three forty-five, then I’ll go home.”
    “When you’re at home, perhaps I might appear to you.”
    Her thoughts twist into a tangled heap before she answers me out loud. “Is that possible?”
    “Anything is possible.”
    “I guess so.”
    “Then, we’ll try.”
    She organizes herself as three students arrive. As promised, I remain quiet. To occupy myself, I contemplate the mystery behind Sasha’s emotions. Why is she reluctant to discuss her parents if she was so close to them?

Chapter 8: Sasha
    I unlock my apartment before Monroe breaks the silence in my mind. “Welcome home.”
    “Thank you,” I say aloud and close the door behind me. Kicking off my shoes, I leave my laptop and purse in the kitchen and shuffle into the bedroom. “Do you mind leaving for a moment while I change?”
    He sighs. “Say my name when you’re finished.”
    After I sense he’s left, I yank off my stockings, skirt, and blouse. In their place, I put on a comfy T-shirt, jeans, and jam my feet into slippers. Softly I call, “All right, Monroe, you can come back.” I wander into the living room and sit down on the couch to wait.
    A moment later a shimmering figure takes shape beside me. Slowly Monroe appears.
    “It worked?”
    “Apparently. This is different.” His awestruck tone mirrors how I feel.
    “I . . . I . . .”
    “My sentiments, exactly. I wouldn’t question why or how. Let’s make the most of the situation.”
    “Right.”
    He sits next to me. “So, this is what it’s like to be here in the First Realm. I could get used to it.”
    He’s clearer than in my dreams. His eyes appear sharper as he meets my gaze. I quickly turn my attention to his long, silky, dirty-blond hair held back by a black elastic. What would it be like to slide the elastic out and run my fingers through the strands? Nervously, I set the thought aside and finish my perusal of him.
    He wears a white button-down shirt, black pants, and matching dress shoes. A nice combination of casual, yet gentlemanly. Just like a real prince. Silently, I gulp. Did that really cross my mind? Hopefully he didn’t notice.
    To cover my tracks, I let my gaze travels upwards, again. For the first time I notice his firm jaw, the definition clearer in reality. His shoulders are broader than I dreamt. His tanned, muscular hands rest lightly on his knees. My attention returns to his gorgeous face. I doubt I’ll tire of his looks anytime soon. “Wow.”
    He smiles, which nearly makes me faint. “I might say the same thing.”
    Embarrassed, I pick at a fingernail. “Will you stop?”
    “Why? I think you’re beautiful.”
    “Beautiful doesn’t apply to me.”
    “On the contrary.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “It definitely fits.”
    “Now what?”
    “Whatever you want. Your every whim is my command.” He stands and gives a flourishing bow.
    Unsure of what to do next, I rise awkwardly to my feet. “I need a cup of tea. Would you like something?”
    “Tea is fine. I wouldn’t expect you to have any wine or beer.”
    “I’m not much of a drinker.”
    “No worries. Lead the way.” He follows me into the kitchen and I find it hard to concentrate with him within such close proximity to me.
    Setting the kettle on the stove, I stand on tiptoe and reach for the box of teabags. “How’s this?” I ask, holding up Cinnamon Apple flavor. “It’s my favorite.”
    “Whatever you want.”
    His hands grip the counter on