Page 35 of Reign

I should sit beside Riot like the well-behaved sister of the groom, drink my champagne, smile when expected, and let the night pass without inviting a complication simply because he has beautiful eyes and the kind of mouth that looks like it rarely apologizes.

I should tuck this tiny, ridiculous spark away before it becomes something stupid.

Something dangerous.

Something mine.

I set the glass down.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say.

Riot looks at me.

I lift a brow. “Do you need to inspect it first?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’ll scream if the sink attacks.”

“That’s all I ask.”

I push my chair back and stand, smoothing my hands over the front of my dress. I walk toward the hallway where the bathroom is.

Toward safety.

Halfway there, I slow.

No.

The music swells behind me, laughter rising with it, and the scent of roses and champagne follows me out of the ballroom like a memory.

I stop beside a marble column.

Why am I walking away? Because he looked at me? Because my pulse jumped for a reason that had nothing to do with fear, grief, duty, or my family’s endless collection of disasters?

I find him again near the appetizers. Still alone. Still devastatingly hot.

I should keep walking toward the bathroom.

Instead, I walk straight to him.

This time, when his gaze finds mine, I don’t look away.

His eyes hold mine like he already knew I’d turn back.

Arrogant.

He tracks every step like he’s already decided I’m the most interesting thing at this wedding.

By the time I reach him, my pulse is making a fool of me.

I look down at his plate.

“Two empanadas?” I ask.

And immediately want to stuff my fist in my mouth.

Great job, Elena, perfect opening line.