Page 106 of Reign

I should have a response to that. A sharp or clever one. Something with teeth, but nothing comes.

I pick up the fork because that is what I use for cold berries and cherries and slushy coconut water, and I refuse to explain that to him because I’ve already humiliated myself enough for one morning.

He stays standing there.

I stab a blackberry. “What?”

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

He nods toward the bowl. “Your verdict.”

Oh.

He wants to know whether he did it correctly.

I spear one of the cherries and bring it to my mouth. His attention follows the movement, patient and dark, until the fruit passes my lips.

Cold. Sweet. Almost frozen through.

“Well?” he asks.

“It’s good.”

His eyes return to mine. “Good.”

Heat crawls up my neck.

One word. One stupid word, and my body receives it like praise.

Absolutely pathetic.

I shove the rest of the cherry into my mouth before I reveal my entire psychological condition.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“You’re welcome.”

Luciano’s gaze drops to my notebook.

I consider closing it, but that would make it obvious I care, and I would rather die in this perfect living room than give him the satisfaction.

He steps closer, just enough to see the page.

He’s already studying it. The severe neckline, the fitted waist, and the row of tiny buttons disappearing down the open back.

“The back changes the entire dress,” he says.

My hand stills around the fork.

“That’s the point.”

“I know. It’s restrained until she turns around.”

My throat tightens.

He understood it.