Sebastian wasn’t used to waiting.
Not in business. Not in life. Not for anything.
But with Isabelle, waiting had become part of the rhythm.
Waiting for her to meet his gaze.
Waiting for her to come home.
Waiting for her to decide whether she wanted to keep him at arm’s length or let him back in.
He’d gotten used to reading her silences.
And right now, they were deafening.
The kiss that morning had been impulsive, yes—but not careless.
Not to him.
She’d looked so soft in the light, coffee in hand, her lips still slightly swollen from the night before, hair tucked behind one ear the way she always did when she was trying to look unaffected.
And he had wanted to touch her.
Just to remind her that whatever they were… it was still alive.
But he’d overstepped.
Again.
Now she was d
