“Darling girl, I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

“Not at all,” I said, taking a seat next to her. On the square aged-oak coffee table was a silver tray set with breakfast for two. My stomach flipped sickly, clenching in protest even as my mouth watered. Damn that man; he’d trained my taste buds so well I feared I’d never be free of wanting another bite.

“Come.” Amalie leaned forward and picked up a delicate pink coffee cup edged in gold. “We shall eat and chat.” She paused, as if a thought occurred to her. “Unless you’ve already eaten?”

“I have,” I lied. I was hungry and desperately wanted to eat, but I recognized Lucian’s handiwork. Amalie’s breakfast was slightly different than mine: fruits simply put in bowls—no flower shapes here—crusty rolls instead of a variety of sweet breads, and slices of both hard-boiled eggs and ham. The difference between her utilitarian breakfast and my extravagant one did funny things to my insides.

To my horror, a not-so-subtle rumble came from somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. Cheeks warm, I ignored the sound and gave Amalie an apologetic smile.

“I’d love some coffee, though.” God, that was weak. Damn my traitor appetite.

Thankfully, Amalie made no comment as she poured us each a cup and then settled back with a sigh. “So then, what is on your mind? Forgive me for saying so, but you appear upset.” Her pale-green eyes, so uncomfortably similar to Lucian’s, studied me. “Has something happened?”

“I—”

“Mamie,” came a familiar deep voice from the hall. “I’m going to the store—”

Lucian strode into the room and halted upon seeing me, his words cutting off to dead silence. Pinned to the spot by his blank-faced stare, I could only look back, my heart fluttering in agitated beats. It was unfair how beautiful this man was to me. Not perfect, not flawless, but beautiful just the same.

Now I knew what he felt like against my skin, in my mouth. I knew the expression he made when he came, knew the sounds—those deep agonized groans of pleasure—he uttered. And he knew the same of me. He’d reduced me to a panting, needy mess solely with his mouth and hands.

The knowledge hung between us like smoke, thick and choking. We’d never do any of that again. It was over before it really began.

As if the exact thought filtered through his mind, Lucian’s gaze deepened with what looked like regret—or perhaps an apology. Or maybe it was what I wanted to see. I didn’t know anymore.

He swallowed thickly, his throat working; then he blinked, as if to pull himself out of a haze. “Hello.”

There was no misunderstanding who he was talking to.

My lips felt numb and clumsy as I answered. “Hello.”

Lovely. We’d been reduced to this.

He grunted, shifting his weight, a man deciding whether it was better to stay or flee the scene. He gutted it out, setting his hands low on his hips. “You didn’t eat your breakfast.”

My gaze narrowed, annoyance flaring through me. “No, I didn’t.”

Like hell I would give him an excuse. But I was far too aware of Amalie sitting next to me. And I sent Lucian a quick glare. How dare he rat me out in front of Amalie. He returned my look with one of sheer stubbornness, as though he could somehow will me to eat his food. Too bad. Those days were over.

He blinked again, and I had the strangest feeling that he was absorbing a blow. But then his expression turned to stone, and his attention went to his grandmother. “I got your note about wines. Do you need those for today?”

Amalie, who had remained thoughtfully quiet during our exchange, became animated once more. “Yes, my dearest. If you would be so kind.” I had no idea what they were talking about, nor did I care. I wasn’t going to go poking around in their lives anymore. “Tina has been asking to go out. Perhaps you could take her along?”

Lucian glanced at me, and that brief bit of attention lit over my skin. But he didn’t linger. He focused on Amalie, the only outward sign that I was in the room betrayed by the hard line of his jaw. I’d become as much of an annoyance to him as he was to me.

“I’ll take her.” Again, he glanced at me, as though he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Not to me. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, then.”

He hesitated, hovering at the threshold of the room, broad shoulders stiff. And an acute sense of sadness slapped me. For a brief time, I’d set eyes on this man, and it had made me feel alive to know I could tease him, that he’d give as good as he got. That I could ease the darkness in his eyes.