MADELINE'S POV
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Something is wrong.
Dusk arrives, and the sun is setting beautifully across the horizon. The cool breeze is that of a gift in the humidity that clings to the air. Atlas rolls into the room with a tray, the food covered with silver bowls, the wine bottle next to it already calling my name. "Dinner is served," He calls out, but then his eyes land on me on the couch, the book still clutched in my hand, and his face lights up.
"You've read all day?" he asks, probably already knowing the answer. I only smirk, and put the book down.
"No, I've talked to you too, in case you don't remember," I wink, and his eyes roll as he marches toward the kitchen, "Come on, let's eat." And even though I did want to eat right where I am, something pushes me to follow him. An instinct of
