ILIANA'S POV
--
Hushed conversations are held right downstairs, and I stand at the top of the staircase, calculating every single step as I move down the steps without a sound. My wet hair is stuck to my back, wetting my t-shirt, and my socked covered feet isn't helping on the wooden stairs. I grip the railing with force as I try to focus on both my steps, and what my parents are saying. I need to know what they are discussing, since it is about my life. I accepted their request to have dinner with them, and my car is here anyway.
"Did you see his tattoos?" my mother hisses, and my heart slowly sinks. I knew it. "He looks kind, my dear." my father tries to argue, but he already sounds exhausted from trying to reason with her.
He's going to give up, I can feel it in my bones.
"Nolan is
