The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (Montague Siblings, #1)

by Mackenzi Lee

A small shift in the gravity between us and suddenly all my stars are out of alignment, planets knocked from their orbits, and I’m left stumbling, without map or heading, through the bewildering territory of being in love with your best friend.

“No, no, no, you have to be on my side about this! Lockwood is tyranny and oppression and all that! Don’t be seduced away by his promises of poetry and symphonies and—Dear Lord, am I to be subjected to music for the entirety of our Tour?”

Oh, by the way, could you perhaps not touch me the way you always have because each time it puts fresh splinters in my heart? Particularly when what I’d really like to say is Oh, by the way, could you please keep touching me, and perhaps do it all the time, and while we’re at it, would you like to take off all your clothes and climb in bed? They’re both weighted alike.

then does that tipped-head smile again, and I swear to God it’s so adorable I forget my own damn name.

I have lived most of my life as a devotee of the philosophy that a man should not see two sevens in one day,

The walls are plastered in moldering velvet and golden fringe, the ceiling painted with an elaborate mural of cherubs frolicking with naked women in foamy clouds—the cherubs seem to be there purely to keep it from being pornographic.

Nothing delights me more than filthy things born from Percy’s tongue.

For perhaps a full minute, I’m so stunned that the only thing I can think is, Dear Lord, this is actually happening. Percy is kissing me. Really kissing me.

And so we conclude what might have been a fireworks-and-poetry sort of evening with the most uncomfortable walk home ever shared by any two people in history.

remove my shoes in what can only be described as the most sensual display any man has ever made with his footwear.

Poor Monty, in love with your best friend.

“Feli, you glorious little shit. That’s the most devious thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Because I want you to know,” she says, “that there is life after survival.”

“Are you—” “Oh yes, am I a sodomite. Well, I’ve been with lads, so . . . yes.”

It occurs to me then that perhaps getting my little sister drunk and explaining why I screw boys is not the most responsible move on my part.

“Ladies haven’t the luxury of being squeamish about blood,” she replies, and Percy and I go fantastically red in unison.

Love may be a grand thing, but goddamn if it doesn’t take up more than its fair share of space inside a man.

Everything will always be second to Percy.

Don’t fall apart, I scold myself desperately, even as I can feel myself caving. Not here, not now, do not fall apart. Don’t you dare.

There’s not a thing on God’s green earth that has the power to disarm me quite like two inches of Percy’s skin.

And rolls her eyes. “Men are such babies.”

“Hands up, my lord. Even a gentleman should know how to defend himself. Especially a gentleman.”

“Now, next time someone takes a swing at you, you swing straight back at him, all right? Promise me that, Henry.”

It is remarkable how much courage it takes to kiss someone, even when you are almost certain that person would very much like to be kissed by you. Doubt will knock you from the sky every time.

“You’re hurt,” I murmur, raising a hand to pluck at it. “No, I’m not.” Oh, so that’s my blood. Fantastic. A pathetic whimper escapes me.