Messy.
Rude.
Cruel.
“This food is awful!” he shouted, throwing his plate.
“You’re too slow! Wipe my back!”
For three months, Clara became his caretaker.
And yet, she never complained.
“I’m sorry, Don Baste. I’ll try harder tomorrow,” was always her gentle reply.
Every night, while Baste slept—or pretended to—Clara softly spoke as she massaged his swollen feet.
“I know you’re kind,” she whispered.
“Maybe you’re hurt because people wounded you with their words. Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m your wife. I won’t leave you.”
Baste heard every word.
And beneath his thick “skin,” his heart slowly softened.
THE GRAND CHARITY BALL
The night of the Grand Charity Ball arrived—the first time Baste would introduce Clara to high society.
He dressed her in a stunning red gown and expensive jewelry.
He himself wore a tuxedo, still tight around his massive body.
