AMARIS’S POV
Then, slowly, I reached out.
My fingertips ghosted over the petals.
No heat.
No flames.
The flowers remained soft, delicate beneath my touch.
I exhaled. Slowly. Carefully.
And then, hesitantly, I resumed picking them.
Tate didn’t look away for more than five minutes while I worked.
I knew he was worried, but having him watching my every move so intently was synonymous with breathing down my neck.
So, I forced my voice lighter, more casual.
“I didn’t take you for a book guy, Mr. Tate.” I twirled the flower between my fingers, glancing at him conversationally. “What’s so interesting that you barely even blink?”
A pause. Then, finally, he sighed, tapping the cover of his book.
“Folklore. History of the Southern Kingdom and the Romanovs.”
I arched a brow, smirking. “
