That single word hung in the air:
"You."
For a moment, I held back a laugh. Coming from a woman who measured every step, who controlled even the muscles of her face, this confession... was ironic.
I crossed my arms over my chest, looking at her with a faint trace of mockery on my lips.
"Me? If that's what you came up with after all that dusting, I'm disappointed. I'd expected something more dramatic."
Willabelle's gaze wandered across the table, then locked onto mine. For the first time, the cold veil in her eyes had cracked. Her lips parted, but she reined herself in before the words could escape. Still, there was a slight tremor in her voice:
"I expected you to mock me, anyway."
I shrugged.
"What can I do? When someone looks at me that seriously, they're either declaring war or proposing marriage. I thought yours was closer to the first."
