“I’ve missed that sharp tongue of yours, princess.” Leaning back a little, he rested his elbows on his knees. “I miss the days when we were friends, and you were crawling around in chicken shit.”
“I miss those days too,” Violet murmured. She paused before pivoting toward him fully. “You’re with Vivian now, and I’m with Titus.” Her hand waved between them. “All of that childhood infatuation and puppy love is in the past. I don’t see any reason why we can’t be friends.”
Hearing her say she didn’t love him anymore hit hard, but it didn’t matter. The way she looked at him, giving him the opportunity to be around her again without hiding, made him want to bellow out a victory cry.
He had two years left to devise a way out of his marriage to Vivian that didn’t involve killing her. Since he knew Violet wouldn’t agree to marry him and break the bond that way, the only other option he’d found was Vivian’s death. If killing her meant he could marry Violet, he would do it, but he’d rather find a way that wouldn’t upset his future wife. In the meantime, he’d take Violet in whatever way he could.
* * *
Violet sat across from Roman at the bakery with a giant piece of strawberry cake in front of her, laughing at the look of sheer horror on his face.
“I’m not eating that,” he protested.
She pointed to the bowl of lumpy cottage cheese and strawberries. “You agreed to try whatever I wanted you to if I came here with you.”
Roman ignored her and pointed to the flower crown on her head. “I haven’t seen you wear one of those in years.” His expression held a hint of fondness, and she chuckled lightly.
“I never take time to make them anymore. My closest neighbors have an eight-year-old son. Yesterday, when I stepped outside to leave, he came tromping up the stairs of my porch, holding this out like a grand prize.” She touched the crown, remembering how cute he’d looked. Roman studied her crown thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the table. “It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me,” she stated.Other than the mysterious gifts that occasionally appear in my room.
One day Violet would gather the nerve to ask Roman about them, but their rekindled friendship was new, and she didn’t want to ruin it.
It’d been two weeks since they’d decided to try being friends again.Friends. If someone told teenage Violet being platonic friends with Roman Covington made her happy, she’d laugh in their face… and probably cry a little too.
But it’s true. Violet did enjoy being friends with Roman again. She loved Titus and wanted to marry him someday, and she thought he wanted to marry her too. When they’d first started dating, Titus had been honest. He didn’t want to have sex until after they married.
The sentiment was unusual for fae, practically non-existent, but she respected his choices. Every time they kissed, he stopped before it went too far and told her he couldn’t wait until he could have her. That meant he planned on marrying her, right? They hadn’t talked about it, but they’d been officially dating for almost a year.
Which reminded her… “How is the wedding planning going? Only five more months and you’ll be a married man.” Roman looked away and tried not to laugh but lost the battle. “What’s so funny?” Violet demanded.
His face brightened with amusement. “Our twenty-second birthdays are in three months, not five.”
Violet held up her fingers and silently counted.Damn. “Just answer the question.” She grabbed Roman’s spoon, dipped it into his bowl, and held it out for him to grab.
He reared back and pushed her hand away. “We aren’t getting married next year,” he said, shocking the hell out of her.
“Did you move the wedding up?” She held out the spoon again, and he glared at it.
“I’m not eating that, and we agreed to push the wedding back a year.”
Violet’s brows shot skyward. “And they let you? Why would you want to?” Traditionally, royals married their mates on their twenty-second birthday, whether by the gods’ decree or a kingdom tradition, Violet didn’t know.
“What’s the rush?” He plucked the spoon out of Violet’s hand and stuck it in the bowl. “Most non-royal fae don’t get married until they’re in their mid to late twenties. As long as I’m married at some point, it shouldn’t matter.”
Violet took a long drink of her juice and licked the remnants from her lips. “Will they smite you for your defiance?”
Something flashed in Roman’s eyes, and he casually leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world like a king lounging on his throne. “I guess we’ll see.”
15
TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD
Roman watched Titus leave Violet’s apartment, thankful he’d headed out early. The man’s life held no excitement outside of Violet, yet he left her every night. It spared his life, but he didn’t know that.
Roman instructed Marissa to follow Titus a few nights a week under the guise of needing to know who would possibly be marrying into the royal family. Titus worked, spent time with Violet, and went home. That’s it.
That is exactly what you do, a small voice in Roman’s head reminded him, but he shoved it away. He had friends outside of Violet; Titus did not, according to Marissa.
Roman vanquished all thoughts of the man and observed Violet as she washed the dishes from their dinner. His lip curled. Her boyfriend should have stayed to help. Violet wouldn’t lift a finger without Roman by her side once they were together.
