For the rest of the day, Zillon trotted behind Celeste like a dog. If she went outside he was there too and even when his father shunned him from beside her at the dinner table, he didn't move.
It seems he really couldn't keep his hands to himself because in every step of the way, he was touching her. If he wasn't holding her hand, he was running his hand through her hair and if he wasn't doing that, his arm was possessively wrapped around her waist.
When he went to take his shower, he had practically begged her to come with him —she didn't though— and now, he was laying atop of her, saying something about not wanting her anywhere out of his sight.
Celeste sighed, hardly able to twist or even turn on the bed. "Can you please get off?"
"So you can lock yourself in the bathroom for an ho
