Her hair brushes the nape of her neck, those soft golden strands framing her face, and something uncertain—almost vulnerable—flickers in her wide eyes, even as she tries to deflect with humor, “Oh no. You want everyone to think I’m trying to seduce you?”
Atëchuckles. “Everyone knows it’s only my Hana for me. For some reason, you remind me of my sweet daughter, Elira. I miss her terribly. Now sit.”
So that’s why he’s taken to her so quickly.
Mia bites her lip harder, and I can see her searching for another excuse. “I do eat well, you know? You feed us wonderfully. Besides, I don’t think the younger Mr. Përmeti would approve of me sitting at dinner with the two of you.”
Atëfrowns, clearly irritated. “And it’s no secret that Roan is the one in charge now, is that it?”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all,” she says quickly, genuine distress coloring her voice. “I just don’t want dinner to be awkward. There might be things you and he need to discuss that you won’t be able to because of my presence.”
“Young lady, I invited you to dinner, didn’t I? It won’t be awkward.”
While they continue their back-and-forth, I pull out my phone and text Dhimitër with a mission. Then I step inside. “Oh for God’s sake, just say yes. You can’t win an argument withAtëwhen he’s decided something. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
Her head jerks toward me, surprise flashing across her face, followed immediately by something else—something intense and unguarded that disappears so quickly I almost think I imagined it. But Isawit, and it makes my heart pound.
What was that?
“Then it’s settled.”Atëgives me an approving smile, a warmth in his voice that’s rare these days. “Sit, Mia.”
She hesitates, her gaze flicking to me, then to the empty chair at the far end of the table—as far from both of us as she can physically get. Reluctantly, she walks towards it and lowers herself into the seat, her shoulders drawn tight.
Not so fast.
I deliberately take the seat across from her, three chairs away fromAtë. He doesn’t stay put for long, shifting to sit beside her.
“Wine?” I ask, lifting the bottle and watching her face closely, cataloging every micro-expression.
Her lips part as if to accept, then press together as she reconsiders. “Just water, please.”
“Water it is.” I pour it for her, the crystal glass catching the light beautifully as I set it in front of her—close enough that her fingers brush mine when she reaches for it. A small touch, purely accidental, but it sends a spark racing through my nerve endings.
She jolts like I’ve given her an electric shock, quickly withdrawing her hand, her gaze dropping as a faint flush colors her cheeks.
Looks like I’m not imagining it.
The first course arrives, served by Besart himself. Our nosy cook raises his brow at the new addition to the dining table, clearly dying to comment, but he knows better than to say a word.
Atëdigs in with his usual hearty appetite, making appreciative noises. Mia eats slowly, cautiously, her eyes flitting between her plate and the two of us like she’s waiting for a trap to spring.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken tension, until I decide to break it during the second course.
“So,Mia,” I drag the name out as I slice into tender lamb. “Where did you work before this?”
“A small hotel,” the answer comes without hesitation, her voice steady, but her fingers tighten around her fork.
Prepared answer. She’s rehearsed this.
“You were cleaning rooms there too?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” I nod, taking a moment to chew my food. “And you moved here alone?”
“Yes.”
Monosyllabic answers. Another tell.
