Walking out of the front doors of St. Jude's Hospital completely unnoticed was a surreal experience.
The paparazzi were swarming the barricades, their camera lenses trained fiercely on the VIP elevators, entirely focused on catching a glimpse of Damien Sinclair.
When Aria and Damien strolled right through the automatic sliding doors, the press didn't even spare them a fraction of a glance. To the bloodthirsty media, they were just a depressed-looking data entry clerk in a beige trench coat and a slightly overweight, middle-aged man in a tragic mustard-yellow argyle sweater.
"This is amazing," Aria whispered as they hit the sidewalk. "I feel like a ghost. I could commit a bank robbery right now and nobody would look twice."
Damien did not share her enthusiasm.
