“Are those her shoes?” I follow Kitt’s gaze to where the heels dangle from my hooked fingers. My laugh is muffled by the hand I run down my face. “She took them off about two glasses of champagne ago.” The king’s gaze crawls over my shoulder. “Speak of the devil.” I turn slowly toward the dance floor, and there she is, striding toward us with a dazzling smile between rosy cheeks. I’m breathless at the sight of her, doomed by the hope of having her. It’s a beautiful ruin, a devastating devotion. This girl holds my heart in her hands, could crush it between her fingers and still have me thanking
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