Isaac looked up at her, still seated, his expression unreadable.
“What?” he asked, brow slightly raised.
Isabel tightened her grip around the bowl in her hands. “The woman, she seemed to be talking sarcastically about me, like she already knew our arrangement wasn’t real.”
His face didn’t change, but she saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes.
“I mean… if she didn’t know, then it was still disrespectful,” she added, “even if I was… anyone else, she should still respect your wife.”
She trailed off, his lips twitched at the corner, the smallest trace of amusement slipping through his usual stillness. He rested his elbow on the armrest, fingers propped against his temple as he stared at her.
“Does it matter who she is?” he asked softly.
Isabel blinked.
She realized too late that
