Page 141 of Reign

Luciano stands in the doorway with a bottle of water in his hand.

Ugh. Water.

The man’s become a hydration menace. Morning. Afternoon. Before dinner. After dinner. Any time my lips look even slightly dry. I haven’t peed this much in my entire life, but my kidneys are probably writing him thank-you notes, so I’ve decided not to fight him on it.

His gaze moves from me to the mannequin.

Something quiet changes in his face as he looks at the dress, and my fingers tighten around the pin cushion before I can stop them.

“What?” I ask.

He steps into the room. “You made this?”

“Half-made it.” I look back at the mannequin, suddenly too aware of every unfinished seam. “It still needs work. The back isn’t right yet, and I need to sketch the final neckline before I commit to cutting the overlay.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The words are simple.

That makes them worse.

My stomach does something stupid, soft, and deeply inconvenient.

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

His eyes return to me. “Are you finished for now?”

“I think so.” I glance at the table, at the open sketchbook, at the mess of thread and chalk and pins. “I need to sketch the other part before I keep going.”

“Good.” He holds out the bottle. “Drink.”

I take it with a sigh dramatic enough to deserve applause. “You know, I survived twenty-one years before you started monitoring my water intake.”

“Barely, from what I can tell.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

I twist off the cap and drink before he can say more. One sip, then another, because if I only take one, he’ll do that thing where he says my name like a warning label.

His eyes stay on my mouth.

The water suddenly becomes much harder to swallow.

I lower the bottle.

He glances toward the hallway. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“My room.”

My pulse leaps.

I cap the bottle carefully, preserving an appearance of composure through sheer force of will. “What for?”

“A lesson. We need privacy.”