Chapter 21

Clara should’ve seen it coming. Dante wasn’t the type to let her little win at breakfast slide—not without hitting back harder. She’d dared him to try breaking her, and now he was calling her bluff. By the time they’d finished eating—her with her strawberries, him with that smug smirk—he’d already set something up, something big.
“Get dressed,” he said as she pushed her plate away, his voice calm but sharp, like an order she couldn’t dodge. “We’re going out.”
She frowned, her fork clattering soft against the table. “Where?” she asked, her stomach twisting a little.