Elias smiled, cleared his throat, and changed the angle of the conversation.
"Not much of a story," he said, jumping into his Italian roots she wanted to know about. "I was born in Naples. My family's old, and traditional. I grew up hearing more Italian than English at home. Food, culture, arguments, and love is all in my blood."
Amara tilted her head, her gaze steady. She was skeptical but intrigued. Her lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but something he couldn't name. "Is that so?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table, closing the space between them just enough for intimacy but not pressure. "That's so," he echoed, his eyes catching hers with deliberate weight. "And if I ever slip again, if I speak in Italian without thinking, it's not because I'm hiding anything. It's because it's who I am."
She studied him.
