Page 100 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“Depends.” She turns to look over her shoulder, grabbing her towel and bringing it to her hair. “Is there a reason for it?”

“Just thinking how lucky I am that you asked me to marry you.”

She freezes with the towel on top of her head, then turns and stares at me. “Don’t start sweet-talking me now. You’re lucky I was patient enough to wait for your answer.”

“I haven’t forgotten how I almost missed your deadline.”

“Mm.” She returns her attention to her wet hair and her reflection in the mirror. “Just as well. I will be holding it against you.”

“For how long?”

“Probably until your obituary.”

“Wow. You’ve already decided that I’m dying first.”

She turns her head, looking over her shoulder, as she runs a brush through her long hair. “Statistically speaking, men die before women, and you’re older than me. Don’t worry, though—I plan to stay alive just long enough to make sure everything is in order before following you. Can’t have you having too much peace in the afterlife, after all.”

I grin. I can’t help it. “Would you prefer if I stuck around and haunted you?”

“Haunt me? No. I’m the haunter here, thank you very much. Besides, your ghost would just get in the way.”

I laugh, and she finally cracks a smile. “Oh, I just saw our entire life together.”

“Good. At least you know your place.” Her smile widens into something a little brighter, and she clicks the button on the hairdryer before I can say a word.

That’s fine by me. I’m happy to simply watch her. I’ve lived in this apartment within the palace for the past ten years, but this is the most like home it’s ever felt. I had no idea how empty it was until she filled the space with her energy.

That does it.

I can’t let her go back to the Sinclairs.

I shove an extra pillow behind me and lean back on the stack of them, never taking my eyes off her. If she notices—and she probably does, because she notices everything—she doesn’t pay me any attention. She’s completely focused on the art of blow-drying her hair, and I’m completely focused on her.

God. I could stare at her all day.

All day, every day.

I’m lost to her already.

There isn’t a mountain I wouldn’t move for this woman.

“Staring at me appears to be becoming a hobby of yours, Your Royal Highness.”

I link my fingers behind my head. “Can you blame me?”

She tilts her head to one side, eyebrows slightly raised.

“What’s that look for?”

“I’m trying to decide if I should be humble or not,” she replies, brushing her hair out. “Should I?”

“You can be whatever you want to be, Hattie.”

She falters, just for a moment, before she recovers and spins around to face me. “A starving artist?”

“Impossible. I’ll keep you fed.”

“A shopping addict?”