"You like it?"
Noah watched Gianna carefully as she slid the lasagna mechanically into her mouth, the way she had been doing since they sat down to eat.
The movement was automatic, devoid of pleasure. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.
And again, he wondered what had her all knotted up tonight. Was it her work? The convention she had mentioned? Or had Zane done something—said something—that had lodged under her skin and refused to dislodge?
He never believed there was no history between them.
He slowly dug his fork into his own food, but when silence greeted his earlier question, he realized he was technically alone at the table. The lasagna tasted like ash in his mouth.
What could he do?
"Gianna…" he called gently when he couldn't take it anymore.
This wasn't the woman who had him aroused every five seconds with those fiery, unapologetic eyes of hers. This woman looked distant, muted, wrapped in thoughts that didn't include him.
