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“No need,” Theodora answers in the sweetest of tones. “He already has one.”
I pull back. “He does?”
“Of course. It’s called the female population of Spearcrest. Wait, no.” Theodora interrupts herself. “Who am I kidding? It’s not just the girls. Let’s just call it most of the population of Spearcrest.”
“Are we talking about the same Iakov? Big, burly—barely speaks full sentences?”
“Tall, strong, silent?” Theodora shrugs. “What’s not to like?”
I reel with a sudden surge of betrayal. Not from Theodora, but from Iakov, who has spent all these years passing for my vodka-drinking, fist-fighting friend and is suddenly revealing himself to be so much more complex, layered, and, clearly, admired.
“He’s going to Paris with Zahara in two days,” I tell Theodora, narrowing my eyes at her. “So don’t get any ideas, and stick to your dark, well-spoken pirates.”
I finally release her hand to pick up my knife and fork and take a bite of banana pancake. Theodora watches me with a sly smile.
“Seems you’ve also developed quite a fondness for James Hook yourself,” she says in a tone of innocence. “Based on your interesting annotations of the book.”
“My—”
I stop and narrow my eyes. Theodora’s pretty blue eyes shine with amusement—a rare expression on her earnest face. Her pink lips quirk as she tries to keep her smile innocent.
“The desk in the library,” I say in realisation. “You saw my book?”
She nods. “I took it.”
I stare at her. She shrugs and adds, “It was a first edition of my favourite book, annotated by my favourite academic. How could I not?”
“Littlethief.” As we talk, I cut small morsels of banana pancakes and strawberries and feed them to Theo, who bites them obediently off the tip of my fork. “Give it back.”
“Let me keep it. Please. It can be my Christmas present.”
“If that was your Christmas present, what would mine be?”
“What’s your favourite book? Something pretentious and onerous, no doubt—Tolstoy or Proust, or, no—Joyce.Finnegans Wake. I’ll find you a first editionFinnegans Wakeand annotate it.”
“I don’t wantFinnegans Wake—I don’t even like James Joyce. I’m hurt, Theo. I would have thought you would at least know that about me.”
She shrugs. “It was natural of me to assume you would since you don’t enjoy happy, whimsical books.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Alright.” Wrapping both her hands around her mug of tea, now almost empty, Theodora leans forward across the table. It’s a small, round table, and we’re not quite across from each other, so now we are face to face, almost nose to nose. “What’s your favourite book, then?”
“I don’t want a copy of my favourite book for my Christmas present.”
“What do you want?” She glances down at my lips and looks back up to glare into my eyes. “Don’t say a kiss.”
“Because I can get one for free?”
“Because one can’t wrap a kiss and put a pretty bow on it.”
“I didn’t wrap my stolen copy ofPeter Pan, nor put a bow on it.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“I don’t want a kiss anyway. I want something you can wrap.”
She covers her mouth with her hand in an expression of shock. “You don’t want a kiss?”
