The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky (Montague Siblings, #1.5)

by Mackenzi Lee

I look over at him, the lines of his face made fuzzy by the sun, and my heart strains in my chest. How had loving him this much made me selfish and drunk and awful, while he had grown even kinder and softer in its harsh light?

“You deserve a reward for all I put you through.” “You’re my reward.” “What a rotten reward I am.” “Not to me. Why do you think everyone needs some sort of recompense for being around you?” he says, his voice so gentle I almost start to cry.

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” I grab onto the edge of the rock I’m sitting on, like that will prevent me being dragged to the edge of the cliff and then inevitably over. “I’m not swimming, and I’m certainly not jumping into a swim. Do you know what’s down there?” I point to the ledge he’s standing on. “Water. Water, Percy. Also, possibly rocks.”

I want to be the only thing touching him. I want to be the only thing that ever touches him again. I will be envious of every shirt he ever wears, the cuffs of his coats, the trousers going soft with wear where they rub his inner thighs. Every snowflake that ever falls upon his lips, every piece of bread upon his tongue. I want to breathe him, let him fill up my chest until my ribs strain and I break open like ripe fruit beneath a paring knife. I would be raw. I would freckle and blister in the sun. I would teach my body to regrow my heart each time I gave it to him, over and over and over again. Heart after heart after heart—every one of them his.