“Love… what do you mean by Elise was right?”
Daniel asked the question again, slower this time, his voice low and careful, as if saying it too loudly might make whatever truth was hiding beneath it explode. He stood a few feet away from Marian in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, the faint smell of garlic and olive oil lingering in the air. Dinner had been halfway prepared—abandoned the moment he saw the way Marian’s shoulders had gone rigid, the way her eyes had clouded as if she’d been dragged back somewhere she didn’t want to be.
Marian kept her gaze on the counter, fingers curled around the edge of it like it was the only thing anchoring her.
“Daniel,” she said softly, “I don’t want to create any trouble between you and Elise. You have Isabella to think about.”
He frowned. The name I
