There was a long pause that grew as the air between them seemed to sharpen, even stronger at their eye contact.
Anthony studied her openly. "You dislike me." He observed.
Penelope gave a humourless smile. "That should not surprise you."
"No, I find it interesting."
"I am certain you do."
"Why?"
For a moment, Penelope could not find the words. There were so many reasons. Was it his arrogance? His infuriating confidence? The way he carried himself as though nothing in the world could possibly unsettle him? Or perhaps it was the ease with which he spoke, as though every woman he encountered was already inclined to listen.
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment.
He was accustomed to being admired. She could see it in the way he watched people, in the quiet certainty behind his every word. He expected his charm to work because, more often than not, it probably did.
Penelope folded her arms. At the end, "Because you are accustomed to women liking you."
"Not all of them."
"Most."
