POV Victoria
Adrián is distracted during dinner. I can tell by the way he pushes food around his plate without taking a bite, by how his gaze drifts to some undefined point in the restaurant, by the heavy silence that’s settled between us since we left the De Rossi estate.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, breaking the silence that’s already become unbearable. “Alessandro had made his decision before we even arrived.”
He blinks, as if coming back from very far away.
“I know.”
“Then stop torturing yourself. We’ll find another partner. Europe is full of opportunities.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
Adrián sets his fork down with a metallic clink.
“Nothing. I’m tired.”
A lie. I know Adrián well enough to recognize when something is eating him alive. I’ve known him since before Cl
