Savannah's POV
I dismissed the staff so I could prepare dinner myself, hoping you wouldn't object to my home cooking.
His fingers tapped restlessly against the kitchen table while his phone produced that familiar mechanical voice.
"Do you want me to handle the cooking instead? Your eyes are still swollen."
I spun away from him, snatching the nearest utensil to mix the broth. Heat flooded my cheeks as I remembered how I had collapsed against his chest earlier, sobbing uncontrollably for what felt like forever.
So much for being seductive. Instead of passionate and alluring, I had been a weeping mess. Not exactly the romantic evening I had imagined.
The artificial voice spoke again, and I realized he had been typing and deleting messages since I turned my back to him.
Dear God. I wasn't prepared for whatever confession he was crafting.
How could I possibly explain myself?
