Page 182 of Reign

He picks up my sketchbook from the bench like it belongs there.

Like my private drawings are gym equipment.

Like he hasn’t committed a crime against me.

“Here it is,” he says.

My mouth falls open. “You can’t keep stealing that.”

I march toward him and reach for it.

He lifts it over his head.

Of course he does. Because he’s tall, and the universe is cruel.

“Luciano.”

His eyes gleam. He’s enjoying this. “Kneel, princesa.”

“You’re an ass.”

“And yet you’re still considering it.”

The worst part is, I’m not, but my knees are already bending.

I lower myself back to the mat. Slowly. With dignity.

Mostly.

Luciano watches every inch of it. When my knees touch the floor, he smiles. “Good, princesa.”

My cheeks burn.

He lowers my sketchbook to his side, still out of reach.

I look from him to the sketchbook. Then back to him. “Why did you take it?”

“I needed photographs of several designs.”

“Why?”

He lets me wait for one deliberately irritating second.

“I sent them to Evelyn St .Clair’s assistant.”

My brain stops working.

“Evelyn St. Clair?” I blurt. “The famous fashion designer?!”

“Yes.”

I forget where I am. I forget the mat. I forget the rules.

I forget him telling me to kneel because Evelyn St. Clair just came out of Luciano’s mouth like those words are normal words and not a bomb thrown directly into my nervous system.

“You sent my sketches to Evelyn St. Clair!”

I launch to my feet and throw my arms around him, face-planting directly into his sweaty chest.