Amara blinked, looking around, her lashes flickering like she was trying to confirm she wasn't dreaming.
The scent of roasted garlic, simmering tomatoes, and herbs heavy with olive oil wrapped around her like an old memory she didn't own.
"You brought me to an Italian restaurant?" she asked, her voice caught somewhere between surprise and suspicion.
Elias didn't flinch.
He leaned his back against the polished wooden door he had just closed behind them. His fingers tapped once against the brass handle as if sealing their entry.
The golden lighting overhead softened the sharpness of his jaw, but it did nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes.
"I realised," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "you don't know a lot about me." He took a soft pause, like a hunter measuring his distance before taking the shot. "So I properly want to tell you that I'm Italian."
