“But Fitz–” “No.” “Why can’t you just–” “Zuly,” Fitz cut into her next sentence, staring at her like she was Satan himself. “I’m. Not. Going.” Frustration built, threatening to spill over. Instead she just sucked in a huge breath. “Fine.” She couldn’t win every battle; wouldn’t win every battle. So what was the point of standing there and arguing with him? Zuly couldn’t make him do anything. She’d talked herself up into the stunt she pulled days ago but she realized something vital–the only reason Fitz had continued with their little routine was because he wanted to, not because she intimidated him into doing so. Backing away from his front door, she started down the steps. “Where are you going?” he called after her. She kept walking. “To dinner.” His brows lowered. “At my parents’?”
