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Anton
Friday 6:46 PM
The universe is my kingdom. The world is my fucking throne.
But my queen?
My queen just told me to go eat shit and die.
Charming, right?
1
Anton
It’s just like the Cinderella story, really—except, instead of sayingI do, she tells the prince togo eat twelve dicks and take an Ambieninstead.
That’s Persephone Owens for you.
Brash, rude, crude, stubborn…
And currently pouring her drink on my head.
“It’s over, Anton,” she says, smug. “We’re through. So why don’t you just get up on your high horse and ride it all the way back to your castle, then?”
“Tasty,” I tell her as the absinthe trickles down my cheek and onto my lips. “Really, darling, you have a way with words.”
I lick my lips clean and don’t miss the way her eyes track my tongue as I do it.
She knows exactly what this tongue can do. She knows it all too well.
“Oh, you thinkthat’stasty?” I can see her temper flaring just beneath her skin. “Then you’lllovethis!”
Then she tries to kick me in the nuts—a fate that I narrowly avoid.
Thank fuck, too.
If I know anything about Persephone Owens, it’s that she can do some gruesome things when she takes aim with her high heels.
I know so much more about Percy than that, though. As I catch her ankle in my hands and pull her against me, I swear I can see that same look in her eyes that I saw all those years ago.
The first time I saw her, she was only a picture on my computer screen.
Still, she had that same look in her eyes.
Half like she wants to fuck my brains out.
Half like she wants to cave my skull in with her Louboutins and watch them smear across the floor.
Not every man can tame a woman like Persephone Owens.
But there aren’t many men like me.
Anton Lanteri, Prince of Menage. As far as European royalty goes, I’m the crown jewel of the fucking continent.
The French royals met their end at the guillotine, and the rest intermarried so frequently that they had to kick the lifeguards right out of their gene pool—but me?
Oh, I’m fucking special—and Percy Owens knows it, too.
