Ewan felt the insistent urge to slap his own mouth. He cursed himself mentally, furiously, as though he could beat the foolishness out of his head.
What was this new habit of his—bringing Antonio into every conversation with Athena, whether necessary or not—whenever he ran out of words?
It was shameful. Foolish. And with the way Athena was gazing at him now, her brows lifted in mild confusion, he felt twice as stupid.
"Sorry…" he sputtered at last, cheeks warming, "I'm still getting used to the dynamic."
Athena wasn't sure what he was talking about. But since she wasn't in the mood for theatrics or digging into unknowns and unsures, she let it slide.
As for informing Antonio, she would tell him later—at the end of the day. Yet a pause tugged at her lips as she bit them lightly. Informing him would mean confessing the other things she had been keeping from him.
