Talia's POV:
The waiter arrived with our wine as we sat staring at each other, passion-filled eyes to hope. Both of us were crammed with unspoken emotions, while the waiter removed the cork with an unnecessary flourish and poured a little wine into Nicholas's glass. Automatically, Nicholas reached out and took a sip.
"That's fine." His voice was curt.
With tension, the waiter filled our glasses, placing the bottle on the ice bucket before beating a hasty retreat. Nicholas did not take his eyes off me the whole time. I became uncomfortable with the stare and broke eye contact, picking up my glass and taking a large gulp. I barely tasted it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, suddenly feeling stupid. I got a read that he was trying so much to be better for me, and all I keep thinking about was how to get away from somewhere he has taken so many measures to make safe for us.
"Sorry for what?" he said, alarmed.
