The Nightmare Before Kissmas (Royals and Romance, #1)

by Sara Raasch

I suddenly feel like being the object of his attention is a stroke of luck.

“We can feel like we have the best of intentions,” he whispers, “and still cause disaster.”

everything about him is filed to a knifepoint and I suddenly want nothing more than for him to make me bleed.

“You don’t need to apologize for that kiss. You weren’t the one who initiated it.” I wouldn’t be able to move if the whole room started to shake. “Excuse me?” But he walks away. He walks away and leaves me there, running those words through my head until their edges soften and bend. You weren’t the one who initiated it. WHAT THE FUCK?

Every single one of those instances when I thought I was hypnotized by seeing joy on other people, I’d been searching, searching specifically for his joy. Because now that I’ve experienced it, it renders all past joy obsolete.

It’s what I love most about Halloween too—we create joy in what is terrifying, and Día de Muertos creates joy with what is gone.”

Someone help me, please, because this guy makes me want to learn hymns but only recite them if I’m moaning and I think that might be sacrilege, but I’m okay with damnation if he’s the reason, I just want to know for sure which way is up.