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I snorted. “Something tells me your possessiveness is going to become a problem,Love.”
“You say that like it’s not already.” His grin morphed into a smirk.
I couldn’t help but smirk right back at him, and earned another shit-eating grin in response.
“Stars, you’re beautiful when you smile,” he remarked, tugging me through the shadowy door and into his room.
He started the shower,once again ordering me to tell him about my day of cooking. I was reluctant at first, but bubbling with excitement about the stuff I’d made.
I sat on the floor just inside the door to the bathroom, and he washed quickly as I spoke with more animation than I’d realized I was capable of.
Namir participated in the conversation, asking for more details when I confused him about something. I noticed him grow quiet when I explained memorizing the shape of the words for measurements, so I could figure them out, after someone had told me which order the ingredients were listed in.
When he finally got out of the shower much later than I expected him to (he’d washed really damn slowly), he strolled out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips.
The towel covered nearly the same amount of skin as his pants usually did, yet something about the way it hugged his backside had that obnoxious heat flaring in my lower belly.
My eyes followed him as he crossed the room, headed toward his closet.
Stars, he was gorgeous.
“You were telling me about cooking desserts,” Namir called out to me, as he disappeared into the closet.
Right.
I cleared my throat. “They have to sit for a few hours—I’m going to go back and taste them after the dinner rush.”
“Am I invited?”
I rolled my eyes. “I doubt I could prevent you from following me after you left me alone for half the day.”
He chuckled. “You know me too well already.”
Did I, though?
All I really knew about him was… that he’d waited his whole life to meet his fated mate, and saved himself for her.
For me.
And that he hated mornings. And that he wanted to end the fighting between the different factions of the kingdoms.
And that he had nightmares about his mother’s hatred; he had mentioned that to me at one point.
So maybe I knew more about him than I’d realized, but it was far from everything.
“Do you know how to cook?” I asked him, from where I still sat on the floor.
He slipped out of the closet, wearing a pair of black pants and running a hand through his gorgeous wet hair. The motion reminded me that he’d lied to me aboutmyhair—which frustrated me once again.
“I don’t. My mother would’ve had at least one or two fae tortured if she knew they had allowed me into the kitchen—probably more. And since she and my father died, my focus has been on surviving a fight with my brothers and their men, as well as protecting my portion of the kingdom.”
My head bobbed in a nod, cooking forgotten now that I’d been reminded of his dishonesty. “You lied to me.”
He frowned. “No I didn’t.”
I scowled. “In the forest—you lied about my hair. You said it felt nice, but now I’ve used your hair soaps, and I know that was a lie.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “It wasn’t.”
