Amara
I couldn’t stop smiling.
It was ridiculous, really. I was a grown woman, not some teenager gushing over her first crush.
And yet, as I walked through my apartment that evening, I kept catching glimpses of myself in mirrors and windows — and every single time, there it was: that soft, dreamy expression I couldn’t hide.
Lucien Thorne had taken me to lunch.
To apologize.
The same man who’d dismissed me that morning like a stubborn child had spent two hours with me at one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, giving me his undivided attention. Listening. Watching. Learning me.
I kicked off my heels, poured a glass of wine, and replayed everything. The pristine white tablecloth. The weight of his gaze across it. He’d leaned in slightly whenever I spoke, like he wanted to memor
