(Author's POV)
Rosalie bent down and slid into the passenger seat of the Maybach. The evening air was cool, sweeping through the open door before she could settle in. A loose strand of hair by her cheek caught in the breeze, dancing wildly for a moment before brushing lightly against Alexander's wrist as he held the door frame.
It was a touch so faint it should have been imperceptible.
Yet, Rosalie's eyes caught the subtle movement of Alexander's throat as his Adam's apple bobbed once. His long, tapered fingers, resting on the metal handle, tightened instantly. The veins on the back of his hand stood out for a split second before he regained his composure.
He closed the door without a word, his expression unreadable, and walked around the front of the car to the driver's side.
"Italia
