Limone froze for a moment.

He had said her hands weren’t meant for cooking.

And yet, she had assumed he would be pleased.

Charles stood there, impeccably composed, his tone even. “You don’t have to do these things to win my favor.”

Limone’s chest tightened. It had been an instinctive gesture—a small effort to occupy herself, to feel useful. But Charles, as if looking straight through her, had seen it for exactly what it ...