He gazed down at me, his brilliant green eyes impenetrable as always even as he gave the crowd his best impression of a man in love. I couldn’t take it. He could look at me any other way he wanted, but not like that. “Please don’t look at me like that,” I whispered to him, making sure that my pain wasn’t written across my face. “Like what, Dahlia?” he said, bemused. “Like you’re not going to spend the rest of our lives breaking my heart.”
