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“Goddess, we beseech you that this man shall never again darken Vivi’s door nor her vagina.”
“Goddess,” Vivi said, taking another sip, “we beseech you that he never again use his dimples for evil against unsuspecting maidens.”
“Goddess, we beseech you to make sure his hair never does that thing again. You know the thing we mean.”
“Goddess, we beseech you to make him the sort of man who will forever think the clitoris is exactly one-third of an inc...
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“You broke my heart, Rhys Penhallow,” she said. “And we curse you. You and your whole stupid, hot line.”
“You almost ran your ex-boyfriend over with a car, and then left him lying in the literal dirt on the side of the road. It is such a big deal, you absolute queen.”
“The Full Potter,” he repeated. “Not finding out you’re a witch until you’re older, not growing up with it. ‘Yer a witch, Vivi,’ that sort of thing.”
What Rhys knew was that kissing her had felt like waking up. Like he’d been drifting sleepily through everything for the past nine years until he tasted her mouth again and remembered what actually being alive felt like. Better than any magic, Vivienne’s kiss.
“I am mad about you, Vivienne Jones. Again. Or maybe I should say still, because I’m gonna be real honest with you here, cariad. I don’t think it ever went away.”
Sometimes she thought what she’d really fallen in love with that summer was the version of herself she was when she was with him.
