The drive back to Elena’s apartment was much quieter than the drive to the penthouse.
The city lights flashed past the windows as Alexander focused on the road ahead. His expression was unreadable, but Elena could tell he was thinking about something.
Probably Patrick. Or tomorrow evening.
Or perhaps the disaster that almost happened during dinner tonight.
Elena stared out the window for a moment before finally speaking.
“Why do you rarely talk about your mother?”
Alexander glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the road.
“You said that yourself at dinner.” He answered curtly.
Elena shifted slightly in her seat.
“Because you get emotional?”
“Yes.”
His answer was short. But Elena wasn’t satisfied. She was curious to know why.
“Why do you get—”
“I don’t want to
