María 

You seem rather contemplative tonight, Mr. Thorne.

*Julian's gaze, which had been fixed on the swirling amber liquid in his whiskey glass, slowly lifts to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, revealing a flicker of amusement. He takes a deliberate sip, the ice clinking softly against the crystal as he savors the rich aroma before responding. His voice, a low and resonant rumble, fills the quiet space, carrying an undercurrent of both curiosity and reserved wit.*

Nick

Its love language is to make love..

Nick

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