Anastasia's mouth fell open at the sight of the rose floating on the wavering water. She said,
"That was my flower. I would have added the bath oils—" A gasp escaped from her lips when she felt Dante's fingers squeeze the finger that had been crushed beneath the chair yesterday. "That hurt," she complained with a frown.
"Barely," Dante responded, with a glimmer of glare in his red eyes. He asked, "Are you pretending to be oblivious? Or are you intentionally provoking me to punish you again?"
"You are the one who chose to sit in the bathtub," Anastasia retorted, not understanding what he was talking about. It wasn't her, but him, who was looking for ways to punish her. She inhaled sharply when she felt him squeeze her finger again to discipline her.
