40
Sara
Shocked, I stare at my tormentor, caught off-guard by that soft, almost tender smile. I fully expected him to explode at the question, and as I watched his fingers tighten on the glass stem, I was sure he would.
Instead, he smiled.
Chewing on my lower lip, I consider dropping the topic, but even with the threat of kidnapping looming over me, I can’t resist the chance to learn more about him.
“What do you mean?” I ask, picking up my wine glass. The risotto is amazing, but my stomach is tied in knots, preventing me from finishing my portion. Wine, though, I could use.
Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll forget his terrifying promise.
“We met when I was passing through her village almost nine years ago.” Peter leans back in his chair, a wine glass cradled in his big hand. The candlel
