Anna speared a strawberry from her fruit plate, her sharp blue eyes fixed on William's calm expression as he took a slow sip of his coffee.
They had been sitting in silence ever since he had blurted out that ridiculous remark. I cannot believe I'm getting jealous over a dog. The words echoed in her mind, looping endlessly as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened back in the garden.
He marched toward me. Grabbed me. Kissed me out of nowhere. Then he said he was jealous. And now he invites me to breakfast and sits here like nothing ever happened?
What the hell is going on?
She had long accepted his unpredictability, his hot-blooded nature, but this? This was sheer madness.
Now, as she watched him through the quiet breakfast—his focus entirely on his plate, his attention fixed on his eggs rather than on her—frustration prickled at her skin.
