"Be thankful I am not my father." He spoke in barely a whisper. "He usually commands Anja's detail. For the danger you put her this day, he would have...killed you already." Sangria listened intently, noting that there was no anger in his words now. "We have taken ... we have taken you from the world you knew, and you are angry at this. I understand your reactions. What you must now do is tread very carefully when you walk Sangria. Try to think before you speak, and try to keep that moon sized. This is the reason for scrapbooking, he thought suddenly, the odd flash of insight striking him as the chatter of family circulated through the living room. Mark the moment. Excusing himself, he retreated to his room to find his camera. It was going to be a long, hot summer, and he didn’t want to miss a thing.* His camera turned out to be the aphrodisiac for Fiona that the “dress-up” sessions were for Jen. Pale enough that she burned easily, the blonde preferred the air-conditioned environment. More

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