Konstantine sat in the waiting area of Isadora’s clinic, his hands resting on his knees. Stefano was beside him, sipping the espresso that the receptionist had offered him upon their arrival. Konstantine didn’t understand how he could stand to drink it in this place.
It smelled sterile, unnatural, despite the effort to fill the brightly lit room with cheerful chairs, vibrant green plants, and drawings made by Isadora’s children.
He heard heels clicking against the floor a full minute before the door connecting the clinic to the reception area was pushed open and Isadora appeared.
He rose, as did Stefano, each paying her the respect she was due. She’d saved both of their lives and the lives of the people they cared about more than once. If that wasn’t a reason to stand and show deference
