Silas's blood ran hot in his veins, a tightly coiled fury threatening to erupt. Suppressing that rising anger, he forced a smile onto his face as he approached Esme.
"Here it is—pastries for my sweet wife," he purred, presenting a plate laden with pastries.
"Thank you!" Esme beamed, accepting the plate. "But where's yours?" A flicker of surprise crossed her features as she noticed he had not brought his plate.
"Not hungry," he mumbled with a sigh, slumping into the sofa beside her. He refrained from eating anything, fearing his stomach ache would start. Thankfully, the dull ache remained dormant for now. He hoped nothing would happen during the party.
"How about I feed you?" Esme teased, a playful glint in her eyes.
Silas chuckled. "Such a temptress, you are," he murmured, his gaze heating up. "Do you have any idea what your words do to me?"
