The question struck Anne like a bolt of electricity, tensing her body. She wrenched herself from Augustine's arms and stumbled backward frantically.
"I—I'm fine," she blurted out, betraying her obvious discomfort.
Augustine's eyes narrowed, unconvinced. Fine? She looked anything but fine. Every movement screamed unease, every glance avoided him like he was the source of something she couldn't handle.
Before he could press further, Anne pivoted and fled.
She rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Leaning against it, she squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming fast and uneven. She bit her lip hard, as if trying to contain the mess of emotions swirling inside her.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered, pressing her palms against her burning cheeks.
Her heart was still racing, the phantom sensation of Augustine's warmth lingering on her skin. His scent, so intoxicating, still clung to her senses. It was maddening.
