"He touched you." It wasn't a question. It was a cold, hard fact, dropped between us like a verdict. "I saw. Through the door. His hand on yours when he gave you the cup."
My stomach dropped through the floor.
So he followed me.
The realization was a shock. He hadn't called out, hadn't intervened. He'd watched. He'd observed. Like a predator assessing a rival's move. Wow…
"That was nothing!" I insisted, heat flooding my cheeks. "He was just—"
"Just what, Camilla? Just being friendly? Just being Henry?" He took a step closer. His body swayed slightly, betraying his weakness, but the anger emanating from him was a solid, terrifying force. "I know him. I know what he is. I know what he wants."
"Which is what?" My voice rose, matching his intensity. "To help? To be a good friend? Because that's all I saw! I don't even know Henry, he's your best friend! I don't see anything wrong in helping me carry a tray!"
