CHAPTER EIGHT
Amara spent the morning weaving through the house to avoid Jace. After breakfast, where her mother’s sharp glance had nearly unraveled their secret, she lingered in the kitchen, scraping crumbs from her barely touched toast into the trash can.
Her fingers trembled as she stacked plates in the sink, rinsing them under cold water even though the dishwasher sat empty.
When Jace brushed past her to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet, his arm grazing hers, she flinched and turned to the counter, wiping a spotless surface with a damp cloth until her knuckles whitened.
In the living room, she knelt by the coffee table, aligning coasters into perfect rows while Jace sprawled on the couch, his phone screen glowing in his hands.
His gaze prickled her skin, heavy and unspoken,
