[Lavinia's POV]
"He's gonna grow like some model," I muttered into Marshi's fur, clinging to it like a lifeline. "I swear, the female lead of this novel is damn lucky to have him. A glorious disaster. Walking perfection. Sword-wielding heartbreak. I'm suffering."
"Talking about me, Lavi?"
I jerked up like I'd just been electrocuted by the ghost of etiquette, my entire soul flinging itself into panic mode.
Osric was suddenly there—right beside Marshi, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel that should honestly be confiscated for crimes against hormonal stability. He looked confused. Innocent. Like he hadn't just committed a visual felony by being that handsome in public spaces.
"NO!" I squawked, way too loud, like a chicken being startled mid-lay. "I mean—yes—but not like that—I mean—I was talking to Marshi. About the weather! And politics! And—and—MARS!"
He blinked. "Mars?"
