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“Are you a witch?” He winks at me. “In the sense that I have a magic touch and a broomstick you can ride whenever you wish.”
Saint wasn’t lying—everything he’s done has been for me, to make me happy. Breaking into my house, tying me up, and kidnapping me to bring me to his estate for winter break was probably the best thing he could’ve done.
“That’s why I chose this mountain for my residence. A writer’s mind craves peace, lest he not hear the whisper of words in his head.” “The perfect place for a writing retreat.” “The perfect place for us.”
“You can’t be by my side twenty-four-seven.” “Watch me.”
“Saint?” “Yes, muse?” Her eyes are hard, resolute. “I want you to teach me how to kill somebody.”
“I didn’t do anything other than exist, but you’re welcome.” “Your existence is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”
“You’re my bad fucking girl.” She beams at me over her shoulder. “So punish me for how bad I’ve been.”
“Wow. So that’s how you fuck your girlfriend, huh?” So she was listening to our dinner conversation. At least parts of it. “No. You’ve been my wife since I laid eyes on you.” She snorts. “I want a ring before you start calling me your wife.” “You’ll get whatever ring you want. But I’m calling you my wife now.”
“No. Even when death comes for me, I’m crawling from my grave to find you in the afterlife.” She can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips. “I’ve always wanted a man who would crawl to me.”
“Jesus Christ, Briar.” She clucks her tongue. “So impatient.” “I’ve created a monster.” “Not created,” she corrects. “Awoken.”
“Yes, muse?” “I swear to god, if you break my fucking heart, I’ll break you.”
“There are consequences when you fuck with me, Trevor. Especially when you fuck with my future wife.”
Fucking Trevor.
