Page 41 of The Hunter's Empire

I glance up again.

"The Keegans’ people monitor arrivals days before major events. Drivers. Hotel staff. Local security. They look for inconsistencies long before guests ever enter the estate."

"So we perform for an entire week."

"We convince people we belong together for an entire week." He corrects smoothly.

The distinction does not help.

I close the passport slowly. "Convincing does not require theatrics."

"No." He agrees. "But it does require instinct."

His gaze lingers on me briefly before continuing. "People who are close touch without thinking about it. They move differently around each other. Familiarity is difficult to fake unless both people stop overanalyzing every interaction."

I narrow my eyes slightly. "You say that like this is entirely my problem."

One corner of his mouth lifts faintly. "You prefer distance."

"I prefer professionalism."

"You prefer control." He says calmly. "There is a difference."

The observation irritates me immediately because it lands too close to the truth.

"I am fully capable of handling myself socially." I reply evenly. "You do not need to lecture me on body language."

"I am not lecturing you." His voice remains infuriatingly calm. "I am reminding you that hesitation gets noticed in rooms like this."

I lean back slightly in my seat, holding his gaze.

"And what exactly are you expecting?" I ask. "For me to spend a week attached to your arm pretending to adore you?"

Domenico studies me for a second before a quiet laugh leaves him. "I was not aware the idea troubled you this much."

"It does not trouble me."

"Mm." The sound carries enough skepticism to make my irritation sharpen further.

"Relax, Elf." He says after a pause. "You might even start enjoying yourself eventually."

I stare at him flatly.

"Stop calling me Elf." I snap back sharply. "It is irritating and unprofessional."

Domenico’s smirk deepens slightly.

"It suits you." He says. "Small. Sharp. Difficult to hold onto."

I glare at him flatly. "That sounded less insulting in your head, didn’t it?"

"Probably."

The lack of shame in his voice is infuriating.

He reaches for the passports again, flipping one open lazily before looking back at me.

"Let us see how convincing you are under pressure." He says. "How did we meet?"