Luna’s POV
I release a deep, shuddering breath, as grief washes over me.
'The earliest memories I have are all tangled up with the smell of his old leather armchair,' I say quietly, staring somewhere past Ashton's shoulder rather than at his face, unsure I can manage this properly if I actually look at him. 'And this awful, gravelly voice he used whenever he tried to do a princess's voice for bedtime stories. He was terrible at it. Properly terrible. But he tried every single night anyway.'
Ashton's thumb strokes gently across my knuckles, patient, saying nothing yet, simply letting me find my own way into it.
'Grandad raised me. I never called him anything else, not once in the five years I had him.' My voice catches slightly on the number, and I have to pause, swallowing hard before
