Her smile falters. "You don't like fantasy?"
"I didn't say that."
"You made a face."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
I find myself fighting the urge to smile. This is ridiculous, we're standing in a bookstore arguing about dragons. "I don't understand the appeal," I admit.
Her mouth drops open. "You don't understand the appeal?"
"No."
"There's magic."
I stare at her. "Magic."
"Yes." She sounds offended.
I don't know why that amuses me. "That's your argument?"
"It is a very good argument." I shake my head. She points at me. "See. That's exactly the problem."
"What problem?"
"You're too serious."
The words catch me off guard. Nobody says that to me, ever. I cross my arms. "I'm not serious."
She gives me a look and I immediately regret speaking. "Okay," she says slowly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
I huff out a laugh before I can stop myself. Her eyes widen. "You do laugh."
I narrow my eyes. "Don't get used to it."
"Too late."
Something warm settles in my chest at the sight of her smiling, it's unfamiliar. For the first time since this arrangement was announced, Quinn doesn't look like a woman preparing for an execution. She looks eighteen, young, happy. Exactly the way she should look.
A voice calls Quinn's name from behind the counter. She glances over her shoulder. "I should probably pay for these before they think I'm stealing them."
I look at the stack again. Eight books, still ridiculous. "You'll finish all of those?"
She rolls her eyes. "You've already asked me that."
"And I'm still not convinced."
A smile tugs at her mouth. "That's because you're boring."
I shake my head. "Keep talking like that and I might reconsider this whole marriage."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. For a second, humor flashes across her face.
"Bit late for that, Lorenzo."
She's right. The Syndicate would have both our heads.
