Chapter 82

After all, Halston wasn't her own grandson, so Polly never really cared.

Yolanda scooped up the boy and shot Latisha a cold glance before turning back into the house. A light rain had begun to fall, and the rest of the family followed her inside, leaving Latisha standing alone on the damp pavement.

Santino bent down, gathering the scattered fruit from the burst bag. He collected them carefully and approached her.

"Latisha," he said gently, "they're all bruised. Do you still want them?"

Her gaze shifted to him. The same perfect smile was etched on his face-a polite, measured expression that kept everyone at arm's length. It was a mask, hiding the real man beneath, a facade no one could penetrate.

Latisha accepted the bag with a nod of thanks. As she took it, her fingers brushed against his skin. Santino subtly moved his hand behind his back, his fingertips rubbing together as if savoring the fleeting touch.

When Latisha looked up, she caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes. She pressed her lips together. After a moment, she selected an unblemished apple from the bag and offered it to him.