Cassius was rushing toward her, his long legs eating up the distance between them.
He was dressed simply—a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into black pants that fit him perfectly.
Simple. Elegant. Devastatingly handsome.
But that wasn't what made Maria's jaw drop.
It was the chair.
He was carrying a chair over his head.
Not just any chair—this was a throne.
An elaborate, utterly ridiculous throne, with carved armrests and a high back and what looked like gold leaf inlay catching the morning light.
And he held it above his head with the casual ease of someone carrying a picnic basket.
He reached her and set it down gently, and Maria stared at it, then at him, her mouth opening to ask what in the world he was doing with a throne—
But then she saw his face.
He was staring at her.
