CHAPTER 133
The electrically charged atmosphere that had nearly consumed the kitchen softened, but it didn't disappear.
It merely settled between them as Lucian silently guided Isabella back toward the high-backed velvet stool.
His hand remained firm on her lower back, a steadying weight that felt both protective and a quiet claim.
Isabella sat with her knees still feeling a bit like water, and placed her plate back onto the cool composite surface of the island.
The steam from the stew had vanished, leaving the rich sauce to thicken as it cooled, but her appetite was the furthest thing from her mind.
Lucian didn't leave, he took the stool beside her, carefully not putting pressure on his injured chest, his long legs appearing elegant even in such a mundane setting.
He didn't eat—he had no need for the salt and herbs—but he sat with her in the modern kitchen.
