But then that look on his face, disdainful and dismissive, as though he had already known, and what he’d seen confirmed his worst suspicions. That she was weak. Idiotic. Pathetic. And when he towered over her, commanding and imperious, and tucked a curl behind her ear with the greatest of care, she’d wanted to crumple into ash. No, she’d wanted to collapse against him, sobbing into his chest—she wanted him to stroke her hair and tell her that it would be all right. 