Sophia’s POV
I slowly get up, my heart and body buzzing.
There’s only one way to get to him—going around the table–the longer route.
He reclines into his seat, hooded eyes shooting an ache through me. Yet I move, stepping out of my seat and turning right.
My heels hit the ground softly as I go to him.
I turn when I get to the end of the table, stepping into the path leading to where he’s seated on the long banquet bench.
He grabs the butter-yellow fabric from the space beside him, puts it on the other side, and leans back, eyes returning to me.
My stomach drops, tightening as the air feels colder.
I finally get to him, and pause.
“You’ll eat beside me,” he says, offering his left hand.
I stare at it—large and beautifully patterned, capable of doing things to me.
Slowly, I place
