Cyrus was the first to see them. He was the first to pause with a large wooden tray in his hands. Steam curled from lidded bowls; coconut and honey rode the air. His eyes locked with Isabella's, and she gave him a quick, guilty smile that tried to be brave. Then his gaze slid to Kian.
The tray dipped a hair as the tendons in Cyrus's forearms tightened. His pink eyes dropped to Kian's hand—broad, warm, possessive—wrapped around Isabella's wrist like it had always lived there. The sight hit harder than hot steam. Cyrus smiled.
