Page 129 of The Royal Art of Revenge

I’ve never felt this before. I’ve never felt anything even remotely close to these ticklish, fluttery little sensations that are breathing life into my tired body. Never felt anything like this intense thumping of my heart that only seems to make my pulse thunder as the realisation of my emotions hit home.

Is this what falling in love feels like?

I don’t know. I’ve never known. I don’t know how to find out.

Before this, I can’t remember the last time I felt safe or cared for or wanted. I spent eleven years just trying to survive, then six or seven more trying to make something of my life. A further two here, fighting for recognition, desperate for something other than the bitter taste of abandonment.

And it never came.

Until him.

Until he humoured me.

Until he offered me a way out.

Until he listened to my off-the-cuff proposal.

Until he accepted that same stupid proposal and promised me the world.

I’ve never believed it. Never thought he’d actually give me anything other than the bare minimum. I never thought he’d care, never thought he’d do much beyond what he absolutely had to.

Yet he’s given me so much more.

He keeps giving me so much more.

“Finn?” His name leaves my lips in little more than a whisper.

“Mm? Yeah, baby?”

I swallow. “What’s your favourite colour?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – FINN

Did she really just ask me that?

“My favourite colour?” A tinge of amusement creeps into my tone, and I desperately try to fight back my smile.

“Yeah.” Her voice is tiny, almost uncertain.

I want to ask her why.

Why does she want to know? Why now? Why is she asking after that rough, almost aggressive sex?

It’s red, but what comes out of my mouth instead of that question is, “Green.”

Like her eyes.

The same eyes that haunt me every waking moment and consume me in my dreams.

“Green?” she repeats back, her voice still small and almost wobbly. “I had you for a red guy.”

“Mm. Only when it’s on you. I find myself very fond of green these days, though.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “What about yours?”

“Red.” She pauses. “Actually, no. Lavender. The exact colour of the flowers.”

Huh.

I don’t know what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. Yet it makes perfect sense—it’s a colour that feels soft yet bold at the same time, just like her.