The silence in the car on the drive back to the house wasn’t peaceful. It was thick, crackling with a tension that seemed to make the air itself heavier. Amelia sat still, her arms crossed but her heart pounding far too loud to ignore. She could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her waist, the heat of it lingering like a brand. But it was the word betrothed that echoed inside her skull.
She stole a glance at him—at the sharp cut of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the way his knuckles flexed and tightened around the steering wheel. His brown eyes stayed on the road, unreadable, but there was a stiffness in his shoulders that gave him away. He was angry. Not just at Giovanni—but at her question.
The way in which she asked, it felt like Amelia didn't want such ties between them.
