After holding Leona for several long minutes, Luca finally looked down at her with a mixture of concern and growing suspicion.
"Are you alright now, Leona? Feeling better?"
His voice was gentle, but there was a slight furrow in his brow.
At first, she had definitely been crying—he'd felt the tears, heard the genuine distress.
But as the minutes ticked by, something had changed.
The sniffles became perfectly timed, occurring at precise ten-second intervals like clockwork.
And there was something about the way she kept rubbing her face against his chest, the way she kept inhaling deeply like she was trying to memorize his scent...it was a little suspicious.
But he didn't want to accuse her of anything, not when she might actually still be upset. So he asked carefully, hoping for the best.
Leona's eyes flew open.
She had been so lost in the warmth of his arms, the safety of his embrace, the intoxicating smell of him, that she had completely forgotten to maintain her act.
