Page 153 of Reign

Then she looks toward the men carrying planters as though they’ve suddenly become fascinating.

“And your friends?” she asks, changing the subject. “The ones you bought Obsidian from. Are any of them on the list?”

I look at her. “The list?”

Her cheeks warm. She doesn’t retreat, though. Elena rarely does. “For suitable matches.”

The blush irritates me more than the question.

The color would look much better on her if I were the reason for it.

She’s imagining one of them. Men she has never met. Men whose names she doesn’t know, whose hands have never touched her, whose voices have never taught her how to ask for what she wants.

She’s standing in my garden, after kneeling on my floor and coming apart on my thigh, asking whether I’ve considered giving her to someone else.

I haven’t.

“I haven’t made a list for you.”

Her brows draw together. “Not even in your head?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’re just not ready for one.”

Her eyes narrow. “According to you.”

“According to your little questionnaire, princesa.” I enjoy the color rising higher in her cheeks. “We’re nowhere near finished with it, are we?”

Her eyes widen.

Her mouth opens, likely with something sharp already prepared.

Then her attention snaps past my shoulder.

“Oh, absolutely not!”

Then she’s gone, striding toward a landscaper placing lavender beside the path as though the man has personally insulted her.

“That lavender is too close.”

The landscaper freezes with the tray still in his hands.

He looks at the lavender.

Then at Elena.

Then at me.

I almost laugh.

Elena points toward the curve of the terrace. “People brush against lavender once and it’s romantic. People brush against it every time they walk by, and suddenly the whole terrace smells like someone lost a fight with a sachet.”

The landscaper continues looking at me as though I might translate.

I lift one shoulder, then nod toward Elena.