The candlelight flickered against the crystal wine glasses, casting long, dancing shadows over the bed of rose petals.
To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic dream, and that included Bianca, who had been staring at Damien with that dreamy look in her eyes.
Perhaps he didn't notice, or maybe he didn't care and regarded her gaze as normal. The young master's attention was on the table, or rather on the dishes emitting a rich aroma.
A faint hint of disgust rose in Severine's chest.
That indifference had been carved into Damien's bones. To him, all the worshiping or fearful eyes were just a normal part of his life. He didn't feel the need to reassure anyone.
A quality Severine might have envied before. But not now.
"Here," Damien, dressed in a silken black shirt, gestured toward the center of the table, where a large, ornate silver platter sat.
