Aeliana froze mid-sip, her amber eyes flicking up to Luca over the rim of the mug. He was leaning back on his hands, his smirk as infuriatingly persistent as ever, though there was a spark of curiosity in his dark eyes.
"Now," he said again, his tone casual but pointed. "When are you going to tell me your name?"
She lowered the mug slowly, her fingers tightening around the warm ceramic as she studied him warily. "Why does it matter?" she asked, her voice defensive.
"Well," Luca began, his smirk widening, "you already know my name—Luca—and judging by the fact that you've been watching me all this time, you probably know a lot more about me than that." He tilted his head, his gaze sharp and knowing. "Meanwhile, I don't even know your name."
Aeliana stiffened, her grip on the mug tightening. "I wasn't watching you," she muttered, though the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her embarrassment.