CHAPTER 187
The steam from the soup had begun to dissipate by the time Clara deemed the meal finished.
Lunch was served with the same efficiency Clara applied to everything else. The three of them were now seated on high stools around the marble island.
Clara sat in the center, a barrier between the two souls from the South. Isabella and Alaric had claimed the far edges of the long counter, keeping as much distance between them as the stone would allow.
Isabella looked down at her bowl. The broth was rich and fragrant, but her appetite remained a distant second to the restlessness vibrating in her bones.
Across the expanse of marble, she could feel Alaric's presence. He wasn't eating; he was staring at his reflection in the polished surface, his large hands curled loosely around the base of his bowl.
The air was still thick with the things they weren't saying. Isabella took a slow sip of the broth, the heat grounding her.
