We’re alone and the heat is suffocating. His gaze burns up at me. I force myself to stare back down at him. His eyes flicker with something I can’t give a name to as he rubs his fingers over his lips. “Aurora Visconti,” he murmurs from behind them. My chest hitches. I’ve heard that name aloud before, even just hours ago at the dinner table, from Amelia. But the way it rolls off his tongue and into the silence between us sounds…inappropriate. And yet, my ears crave to hear it again.
