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“You’re insane,” he murmurs, gripping my jaw. “If you think I’m anything but crazy about you, Rory, then you’re fucking insane.”
Angelo Visconti isn’t a knight in shining armor, he’s a monster in an Armani suit.
“He doesn’t recognize me outside of the forest, Angelo. That’s why it can’t be knocked down, and that’s why we can’t leave. What my father and I have, it doesn’t exist outside of it.”
No, she’s willfully ignorant. She knows exactly what’s going on, and yet, she’d rather sit still and let me drown than get up and rock the boat.
He grips my chin. Runs a soft line over my bottom lip. “I know. I’ve always fucking known.”
But if this is what good girls get, then maybe I won’t be bad anymore.
“Not just regular happy. I mean really fucking happy,” he growls into my mouth, palming my ass to pull me on top of him. “Can’t stop fucking smiling, don’t want to go to sleep because reality is better than your dreams kind of happy. I want to make you so damn happy that you shit sunshine and piss rainbows and people think you’re as high as a kite when you walk into a room.” He nips my lower lip in mild frustration, and his fingers dig deep into the back of my thighs as he slides me up to his groin. “If you want to be mine, I’ll make you that happy, Rory.”
“For old time’s sake,” he purrs, slipping it between my lips and holding it there. He watches me in fascination as I take a long, slow drag. When I exhale, he captures the smoke in his mouth. My breath and his breath, his heart and mine, they are interchangeable now.