ISABELLA
I was restless. It was not the kind of restless that meant I wanted to pace around the room or fold laundry that didn’t exist. No, this was the twitchy, gut-churning, heart-hammering sort that made my limbs feel too tight for my skin.
The ceiling had become my confession. I stared at it and tried to think about the restaurant. The dream. The fire that had once burned so brightly in my chest. But that, too, had dimmed. Marcia had snuffed it out with one smile and a well-aimed insult.
I hated how easily I let her get to me. Hated that her words had crawled under my skin and nested there.
A knock at the door broke through the heavy silence.
I didn’t move at first. It wasn’t going to be Logan. He never came to me. Not when I was like this. Maybe it was Nina checking in.
I sighe
