A muscle ticked in Cullen's jaw when Amelia refused his help. He watched her struggle with her injured arm to brush her hair.
Seeing a relaxed expression on her face, he sighed deeply and took the brush from her.
"Don't help me," Amelia protested. She turned her head to face him and stretched her hands to retrieve the brush from him.
However, Cullen stood tall behind her without flinching. Starting down at her, he asked, "Why did you not say this when I offered to help you into your dressing room?" he taunted.
Amelia's hands halted. She reduced them to her side and raised her chin in the air. "That was because I needed your help. Now, I can do this perfectly,"
"You're mad at me," Cullen let out his observation.
Amelia shook her head sat down properly, and started at the mirror before her. "I'm not," she denied, hoping he won't smell it.
"You are," Cullen met her eyes from the mirror before them, "And it's fine,"