His gaze shifts when it touches the flare of my hips—no longer just an appraisal but something more. Something heated. Frustrated. His nostrils flare, like he can't decide if he likes what he sees or if he hates that he does.
Soren and I look away from each other sharply. I don't acknowledge that the temperature seems to have risen suddenly and blame my dizziness on the baby.
By some stroke of luck, the ladies find a much more interesting target after seeking out more information of where I come from, my parents, my life before now and my highly sought after love affair with Soren. Not. In truth, I ran from them with a lame excuse of needing to use the bathroom while I tried to hunt down a servant, suddenly thirsty for something chilly and tangy.
My fingers close around a pinkish-yellow
