“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. “I didn’t say a word until I was three years old. I don’t like eggplant. And you have a single little freckle in the hollow at the base of your throat.” Alizeh clasped a hand involuntarily against her neck, almost surprised when her fingers met with the heavy gold collar of her dress, which all but obscured her throat from view. “How did you know that?” “I have eyes,” he said flatly. “You’re lying to me.” “About my eyes? I assure you, they’re quite firmly affixed to my skull.” “Cyrus—”
