It had been a few days since the incident at the bistro, and a heavy, suffocating silence had settled between Eric and me. We moved around the estate like two planets in a dangerous orbit—close enough to feel the pull of gravity, but terrified of a collision. I had managed to sneak a text to Marco to apologize for Eric’s behavior. He had waved it off with the easy grace of someone who didn't understand the lion's den I was living in, but the guilt still gnawed at me.
We were sitting at the dinner table, the clinking of silverware against fine china the only sound, when Eric shattered the peace.
"I have a business trip to Milan tomorrow, and I would love it if you came with me," he said. He didn't look up from his plate, but the command in his voice was unmistakable.
"What?" I asked, my
