"Wait," Fulvia whispered.
He paused, surprised by the grip. Though her touch was light, it carried more weight than she perhaps intended.
"Stay." She said.
Nathan slowly turned his head toward the figure sprawled across the bed—Fulvia. The soft flicker of candlelight painted her silhouette in warm golden hues, her long light brown hair splayed like wildfire across the pillow. Her fingers, slender yet insistent, reached out and gently gripped his arm, halting his retreat.
"Do you need something else?" Nathan asked quietly, his voice steady but gentle.
He could see it clearly—her glassy eyes, the flushed tint blooming across her cheeks, and the faint, unfocused sway in her movements. She was intoxicated. He had wanted to speak with her, truly, to share something more meaningful. But looking at her now, he knew this wasn't the moment. Not when she was in such a state.
