His attention is almost suffocating. Until… Meow. Rhys’s chin drops slowly, the look in his eye going from reserved to pissed off as his attention lowers. The tabby cat with four white paws and a little white tip on her tail that Milo and I chose from the shelter waltzes into the kitchen like she’s the queen of this house. She weaves herself between Rhys’s legs, bunting along his jeans. I swear she’s purring. “Surprise?” I say, feeling less sure of my payback for the alarm system now that Rhys is marrying me as a favor. “What the fuck is that?” “A cat. Her name is Cleocatra.”
