ISABELLA
Mara returned like a gust of cold air and clattering grocery bags. The front door opened, and her voice floated in, calm and efficient as always. “Mr. Salvatore, Miss Isabella — I’m back.”
Adrian straightened immediately, the tension in his shoulders snapping back into place. I nearly jumped off the stool, grateful and irritated all at once. Mara stepped into the kitchen with two full bags in her arms. “Apologies for the delay. The market was busy.”
“I can help,” I said quickly, moving toward her. But Adrian’s hand brushed my arm — light, barely there, but enough to stop me.
“Mara can handle it,” he said.
I bristled. “I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
He exhaled through his nose, the faintest sign of annoyance. “I implied nothing. Mara is traine
