Ella was sitting across from him, nibbling on a piece of caramel tart like it was nothing—like she hadn't just short-circuited every functioning neuron in his body with that dress, those eyes, and that laugh. And yet, despite the perfection of the moment, despite the warmth and wine and the way she kept looking at him like he was the only thing worth seeing, he asked the question anyway.
"Why'd you stay with him?"
She looked up, startled. "With Ryan?"
He nodded, careful to keep his tone light, almost casual. Like it didn't matter.
But it did. It mattered more than he wanted to admit.
Ella didn't answer immediately. She went still—quiet in a way that told him she was thinking, really thinking. Her brows pulled together in a thoughtful crease, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass as she stared into the flickering candlelight between them.
Nicholas almost told her to forget it. Almost changed the subject. But then she spoke—softly, rawly.
