9

9

ANNALISE

My hand trembled as I reached for the doorknob, the polished brass suddenly feeling icy cold. I’d been drawn to the study by the sound of raised voices, my mother’s sharp pronouncements cutting through the air like a rusty blade. Now, pressed against the cool wood of the door, I strained to hear more.

“She’s a whirlwind of reckless impulsiveness!” My mother’s voice crackled with fury. “And this Adrian fellow is a complete unknown!”

My stomach twisted. They were talking about me, about Adrian.

“Perhaps,” my father’s voice rumbled, laced with a hint of amusement, “but there’s a spark in Annalisa I haven’t seen in years.”

A spark. My cheeks burned. It wasn’t just a spark; it was a raging inferno that Adrian had somehow fanned into existence. But could I sustain it? Could I build a future with a man who claimed to be from the future?

“You’re impossible,” I heard my mother mutter, followed by the heavy thud of a chair scraping against the floor. “And you, Anne, are far too quick