The scent of roasted lamb and rosemary fills my apartment, a warm, savory veil over the nervous energy knotting my stomach. My hands linger on the silverware, aligning each fork and knife with obsessive precision, the soft clink of metal against porcelain a counterpoint to the pulse hammering in my ears. Silvia’s instructions this morning were cryptic, her voice low and teasing, her emerald eyes glinting with a promise th...