Page 130 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“What about animals?”

“Hmm.” I trace little circles on her forearm with my fingertip as I think. I don’t think she’d appreciate me saying ‘you when you’re angry,’ so I settle for the much safer option of, “Tigers, I guess. What’s yours?”

“Pandas.” She pauses. “I’m not even sure they’re real animals. They’re so dumb.”

“That is why they need help in the old breeding department. Otherwise, they’d probably die out,” I reply. “Their simplicity is quite adorable, though, I agree.”

“They’re so endlessly happy,” she murmurs. “What’s your favourite food?”

“Will you hit me if I say you?”

A small laugh escapes her, making her upper body shake. “I’m not food!”

“All right, all right.” I sigh, deliberately heavily, and she prods me in the side. “Aside from you… Probably potatoes.”

“Potatoes? Like, in general?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure potato is the one food item you could realistically live off. You can cook it in so many ways, and it’s nutritionally dense, so…” I stop when I realise she’s still laughing. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No, I…” She trails off, definitely laughing. “That’s the most diplomatic answer I think you could have given.”

“I’m not sure a potato has ever been described as a ‘diplomatic’ option for anything, but I guess I can see it.” I bite back my own laugh, although it’s more at her than the conversation. “Let me guess yours. Cake?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve seen you eat cake. I’d have to be blind not to see how happy it makes you.”

She tilts her head back, dislodging my chin, and peers up at me with her lips pursed. “It doesn’t make me that happy.”

“I disagree. You get a little smile when you take the first bite.” I tap the corner of her lips and smile. “It’s cute.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘cute’ before.”

“Well, you are. Sometimes.” I trace the shape of her full mouth with my fingertip. “Like now when you’re pouting at me and you don’t even realise it.”

“I’m not pouting at you.” She presses her lips together in direct defiance of me, and even when I tease her lower lip with my thumb, she doesn’t move.

“All right, fine, no pouting.” I replace my thumb with my lips, and she finally softens to kiss me back.

Hattie slides her arm up my chest and around my neck, holding me against her. Her tongue flicks at my mouth, and I part my lips, meeting her tongue with my own.

This kiss is soft and slow. My heartrate picks up until it’s beating ferociously against my ribs and my pulse thunders in my ears. I could kiss Hattie forever. There’s something so right about the way it feels to be with her.

Maybe I was right with what I said earlier to her.

Maybe she was always meant to be mine.

Maybe I was always meant to be hers.

There’s no other way to describe this overwhelming sense of belonging whenever we’re together. Or why, the first time we met, something deep inside me said, “There you fucking are. Finally.”

As if I knew.

As if I knew in the moment our eyes met for the first time that she was made for me.

As if I knew then that I was taking the first steps on the path that would lead me to fall helplessly in love with her.

“If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to hold you responsible for what I do next,” I murmur against her lips, pulling back to see her flushes cheeks. Her green eyes are dark and shiny, and she’s looking at me as if she wants me to do exactly that.