Helena didn’t withdraw her hand, still lightly ghosting her fingertips along the back of his hand. “Agghiotta di lumache,” she said in perfect Italian at the waiter, not moving her gaze from the human puppy across from her, looking like she was practically undressing him in her mind.
“You speak Italian?” He remarked as soon as the waiter walked away. “Impressive.” He muttered as they stared at one another.
