“Yes, precisely that,” she nodded fervently, as though he had taken the words right out of her mouth. “Predictability, in any relationship, is important.”
He merely shrugged in response, opting instead to look out of the window.
“You don’t agree?” Evan could hear the slightest strain of annoyance in her voice. It only made him want to double-down on his stance.
“No, I don’t think I do,” he smirked. “I don’t quite see the fun in that.”
“The fun?” she knitted her eyebrows together as she assessed him. “I assure you, there are other ways to havefun. Your methods just seem mildly infuriating.”
“I would advise you to not form an opinion before you have tested them,” he winked at her. “Besides, I am not sure what you’re even upset about here. I thought you might be happy that I have decided to accompany you on your first visit to see your family.”
“I am happy,” she defended, “but?—”
“That happiness would have been greater if you had been told in advance?” he said, looking at her with intrigue now. “Is that what you are trying to imply?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, you could say that.”
“What a strange thing to premise your happiness on, then,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
As much as he didn’t wish to admit it, her strange idiosyncrasies amused him endlessly. It was like she had specific criteria set out for everything—the ‘proper’ way.
“We can agree to disagree.” She folded her arms in front of her chest.
“Can we?” he mused, “Because I rather enjoy disagreeing with you.”
“Why does that not surprise me in the slightest?” she said, her tone clipped. “You do seem to enjoy being contrary.”
Evan chuckled. “Oh, it is not the disagreeing that I enjoy, sweetheart. It is watching you try to prove me wrong.It’s rather fun, actually. Your notions of how things ought to be and then the reality of them.”
“The reality of them?” she said, flaring up once more. “Do you mean to imply that I live in some form of fantasy world of my own?”
“Yes. One where everything is structured according to these rules you’ve set up,” he said. “A proper way to dine, a proper way to dress, a proper way to react to things. Even a proper way to be happy.”
Isadora stiffened, her mouth pressing into a thin line.
“That isnot—” She cut herself off, letting out an exhale before continuing, “There is nothing wrong with having standards.”
“Of course not. But tell me, Duchess—how does one determine theproperway to be happy?”
She opened her mouth but then shut it again.Her brows furrowed slightly, and Evan saw the exact moment she realized she did not have an answer.
Victory.
His smirk deepened, and he leaned back again, entirely too pleased with himself.
“That,” he murmured, “is what I thought.”
Isadora was silent for a moment, as though she was coming to terms with how she had lost the argument.
Better get used to it, Duchess.Evan thought to himself though the fun of it was in the argument.
“I do appreciate it, you know,” she said finally. “You coming along, that is. It means a lot.”
Her compliment was sincere and left a sweet moment in its wake. Evan stared at her for a second, thinking of something clever to answer with, but he could think of nothing.And that was a good thing. Strange perhaps, but good.
When they finally reached Isadora’s home, Penelope was already waiting to receive them in the driveway.
“Oh, welcome, welcome,” she ushered them over, energetically. “Your Grace. Sister.”
