Davina's POV

“Carlotta doesn’t love me,” Diego whispered. His hands came to rest gently on my waist, the heat of his palms burning through the fabric. “But you do.”

I was already at the edge of the balcony; there was nowhere else for me to go. I gripped the edge of the rough stone and prayed that I had the strength to withstand whatever hurricane he was going to rain down upon me with those eyes. Those hands.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. “You can’t say ...