Adrian stood in the dim foyer, his tall frame completely rigid, looking down at her with a chilling composure that hurt her far worse than if he had raised his voice and screamed at her. She almost wished he would shout, at least shouting would mean he still felt something.
A scream, a slammed fist, even cold fury… anything would have been preferable to this suffocating, impenetrable calm that made her feel like she was fighting a ghost.
She remembered, absurdly, the first time he had raised his voice at a waiter who'd mishandled their reservation, how alive his anger had seemed then, how it had almost comforted her to know passion still lived somewhere inside him.
