BOOK 3: Chapter 3: A Dangerous Look
The dining table is dressed modestly—simple white linen, matte black plates, and a trio of flickering tea lights clustered near the center. Gregory insisted on setting everything up himself. “You deserve something special,” he’d said as he placed each fork and napkin with uncharacteristic care.
She had offered to help. He wouldn’t let her.
Now, she sits at one end of the table, Gregory at the other, and Adrian between them—casually slouched in his chair, wine glass lazily turning between his fingers. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, exposing forearms that look like they’ve done more sinning than working. His collarbone peeks from his unbuttoned shirt, and his foot, beneath the table, has found hers. Again.
She hadn’t moved it the first time.
