EMMALINE
I descend the stairs slowly, each step dragging like I’m walking through water.
My body hums with tension, and my palms are slick with sweat. I surreptitiously wipe them quickly against my dress, then grip the banister to steady myself.
When I reach the bottom, I stop.
Alexander is already at the table.
I hate that he looks this good. I hate it with everything in me.
He sits with the kind of effortless confidence that makes the entire room feel like it exists just for him.
His shoulders are relaxed, his posture controlled, not a single hair out of place even though I can see the dampness still clinging to the ends. He must have just showered.
His black shirt is unbuttoned at the top, the first two buttons undone, exposing the hard lines of his throat. His grey pants fi
