Antonio swirled the wheel roughly to the side of the road, and the drive came to an abrupt stop. He turned sharply to Eloise, his brow deeply furrowed, his fist tightly clenched and his heart felt a hard stab.

“Eloise,” he called, not calmly, nor harshly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. They held no defiance, no fire, just exhaustion. Raw with deep pain and stabbed right into his chest. His lips parted, and for the first time since his parents' death, his hand trembled.

She had the same look his mother once wore. That look that says—I tried, I really tried, but it's over.

He gritted his...