AUTHORS POV
When they reached the parking lot, Pablo walked ahead slightly and opened the passenger door of his car. He gestured politely for her to step in.
Regina paused in her tracks for a moment, frowned, then walked to the door, shut it violently, and opened it herself.
“See, I have hands, and they are working; I can open my own doors,” she rapidly said, sliding into the black leather seat.
Why did he open the door for her like that?
Who did he think he was, and what was he trying to prove?
For what it’s worth, she could open her own doors. She had been doing it for years now—since the day her ex-boyfriend, Cedro Cortez, left her standing there in that church like a fool all those years ago. Since the day she realised that sweet gestures didn’t mean love. They meant nothing if the man behind them was a coward like Franco.
It should’ve been Franco opening that door. And the idea of meeting him secretly began to irritate her. The one who should’ve held her hand in front of Da
