I shifted in Gosto’s arms, turning to face him.

His words still hung in the air like a challenge, daring and bold. His face, though unreadable to many, showed unwavering conviction. He didn’t waver not even under Gualtiero’s piercing gaze. I could hear my heartbeat drumming wildly in my ears, an erratic rhythm that betrayed how affected I was by his claim. I told myself he was pretending. He had to be. Yet, hearing him say his heart belonged to me those simple words sent butterflies ...