Anastasia sat frozen in her seat, her fingers gripping the fork so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Dante was still watching her.
The restaurant was silent except for the faint hum of New York traffic beyond the glass walls. The city's skyline stretched behind him, glittering with the soft glow of a thousand lights, a breathtaking sight that might have been romantic—had she not been sitting across from the one man she had sworn to never face again.
He shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be happening.
Yet here she was.
Dante leaned back in his chair, exuding effortless dominance. The way he lounged, fingers resting against the armrest of his seat, like a king observing his subject, made her stomach twist.
"You should eat," he said smoothly. His voice was deep, cutting through the quiet space with an authority that left no room for argument.
Anastasia forced herself to breathe. "I'm not hungry."
This wasn't how the blind date was supposed to be!.
