CHAPTER 15: TRACES OF PARIS
ARIA'S POV
The ride to the hospital is… awkward.
Noah sits next to me in the back of his Maybach, his large frame taking up so much space that I feel the heat radiating off him.
Whenever the car shifts around a sharp turn, my arm brushes against his, sending electricity up my veins.
I bite the inside of my cheek, furious at myself for reacting to him this way. He isn't even looking at me.
His focus is locked onto the tablet in his lap, his voice dropping into a low, monotone drawl as he speaks into his earpiece.
I don't understand what is wrong with me. I have never felt this kind of intense, overwhelming pull with anyone before—not even with my ex, and certainly not during my entire time abroad.
It feels completely foreign, yet terrifyingly familiar.
