POV: JASMINE
As if he sensed the cracks spider webbing through my pride, Alaric dipped his hand into the bag with that maddening calm of his.
I watched him, arms crossed tightly over my chest, trying to suppress the groan in my stomach that had turned vicious the moment the scent of food hit me.
And God, it hit like a storm.
He pulled out a small, rectangular box wrapped in clean parchment paper. The scent hit me first–rich, buttery, smoky, with the faintest trail of herbs and roasted meat. My stomach growled – loudly.
It was mortifying. I turned my head, pretending I hadn't heard it. Pretending I wasn't now eyeing the contents of the bag like a starving woman eyeing her last meal.
But Alaric heard. Of course, he did. His smirk deepened as he set the first box on the table and reached into the bag again.
