Evangeline’s POV:
My gut churned violently. The bitter burn of bile licked the back of my throat, and I barely managed to turn my head in time before the nausea overtook me. What spilled out wasn’t even food—just clear liquid, the pathetic remains of an empty stomach. A cold sweat covered my skin, my hair clinging damp to my forehead, and my legs trembled beneath me.
There was nothing left in me to expel, and yet the dry heaving continued. My throat felt raw, my ribs sore from the force of each convulsion.
At least I made sure not to stain any of the men’s clothes or shoes. My mind constantly reminding me what had happened to the little girl back at the garden party.
"How uncouth," came the annoyed voice of Donatello Rossi. My heart plummeted as his next words followed, casual and crue
