Eyes widening, Clara drags her attention off me and fixes it on the menace who will become my future sister. Adequately worried, Clara asks, “Is…that an issue for you?”
“Constantly. I tried baking once. My insurance didn’t cover it.”
As politely as possible, Clara tiptoes around her response. “I’m not sure how to keep the things I bake from catching on fire…? They just seem to…not do that?”
“Crisis has auniquedisposition,” Viktor explains, mumbling intohissecond muffin.
I take offense, because I am still busysavoringmy first, and by the time I’m ready tosavora second, the hogs I live with will have decimated them all.
“A unique disposition?” Clara inquires.
Crisis sighs, heftily. “I’m a hazard.Stuffhappens around me. You’ll get used to it. Eventually.” She reaches for athirdmuffin—the animal—and shrugs. “I have.”
Seeking reassurance, Clara glances at me, and a prickle of gratification sneaks into my chest.
I smile to calm her, then revel in the blush it causes as her gaze darts back away.
Right then and there, I decide that I want to be the safest person she has ever met. Because Ineedher to be mine. But she is too precious toown…so I might as well consider what it might be like to be owned by her instead.
Amid my terrible thoughts, a timer goes off in the kitchen, and Clara jolts to her feet. “Sorry. That’s the second batch. I wasn’t sure how many we’d need, so I planned for ten people.”
I watch her trot to the oven, pull on a pair of mitts, and bend to get two more fresh trays of giant muffins out. The way her hair falls against her cheek when she sets them on the stovetop has me hypnotized. And I must be staring a little too hard, because Viktor jams his elbow into my ribs.
Trance broken, I glare at my rotten older brother and his disapproving look.
Then I roll my eyes.
Because I know the man who spenttwo yearsgazing longingly at Crisis’s butt isn’t judging me for admiring Clara’shair. It’s just…flaxen. Long. Pretty. I want to run my fingers through it and pull her close. I want to tell her that she’s wonderful and it’s not her fault that she grew up surrounded by people who didn’t deserve her.
My attention finds the flowing strands again, and I melt when I see hersmilebeyond them.
She’s so happy. So peaceful. Sosafe.
Thisis what gives her confidence.
Thisis what she loves.
Thisis what will help.
I just need to give her more ofthis.
“King?” She whirls toward me, beautiful, angelic,perfect. “Would you like another?”
My heart seizes, and I tumble, helplessly, for her.
Thiswill be my undoing.
But won’t it be beautiful to come undone?
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”
