Dante stood in the middle of the room, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stared at Annabelle’s face.

“Are you crazy?” she yelled, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, and the tension in her body was palpable.

He didn’t flinch at her outburst, didn’t rise to meet her anger as he normally might.

“I’m asking you,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, “if you love me.”

Her hands flew into the air, exasperation etched into every line of her face.

“You’re insane for even asking me that!” she shouted, her words fuelled by a mix of anger and...