“I hate you,” I murmur. “I know.” “No, you don’t know how much I reaaaaally hate you.” “Why don’t you tell me?” “I hate your face.” “You’re in the minority on that, Princess.” “I hate your accent.” “Still in the minority.” “I hate your cheeky attitude when you don’t mean it.” He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear, and my eyes flutter closed. “So you love it when I mean it?”
