Page 156 of My Dark Prince
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “The dance?”
“Yes. ‘Love is an Open Door.’ It has choreography. Why settle for just the song? Let’s do the dance, too.”
It was getting ridiculous. Did he really think I believed he’d go through with this? Did he thinkIwould? If this was a game of chicken, a round of who-will-blink-first, I refused to be the first one to bail.
“Sure.” I hopped off my seat and stretched, arching my boobs toward his face. “That works for me. So. Ready for our first singing lesson?”
Just when I got my wits about me, Oliver decided to scoop some ice cream out of the cone with his index finger and dip the white cream into my mouth. I opened up for him without a question, staring helplessly at him.
“Fuck.” His eyes were drowsy, sleepy as he traced my lips with the same finger I sucked clean. “You are going to drink every drop of my cum when I finally fuck you, aren’t you?”
“If that ever happens. You’ve been taking your time about cashing in on your win.”
“Just building anticipation.”
“Wanting to fuck you has never been an issue, Oliver. I’m attracted to you. It’s your personality I cannot stand.”
“Big words from someone who is about to marry me.”
Touché.
He’d blink first.
I’d make sure of it.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Oliver
Ollie vB:She’s pissed.
Romeo Costa:What did you do?
Ollie vB:I might have announced our engagement on the New York Times.
Romeo Costa:What engagement? THERE IS NO ENGAGEMENT.
Ollie vB:Semantics.
Romeo Costa:That’s not what semantics means. The lobotomy truly did a number.
Zach Sun:Go ahead and order a futon. It’s over.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Oliver
“Is she teaching us how to sing or how to birth a baby whale the size of an office building?”
At my words, the vocal teacher whipped her head around and glared before leaving the room for a quick bathroom break.
Oops.I thought she’d already left. Not my fault. I could barely breathe on account of the fact that Briar and I had spent the past fifteen minutes practicing “control,” which basically translated into a competition of who could hold their breaths longer. If anything, with her competitive spirit, she resembled Seb more than I did.
From across the tiny studio, Briar grinned at me. “We need to trust the process.”
Behind her, signed posters of Broadway shows decorated every surface, along with framed awards and certificates. Apparently, our instructor was some hot shot.
I didn’t even remember her name. Jillian or Jessica. Something with a J, at any rate. I was too focused on the fact that my fake fiancée – or my real one, depending how well my plan worked – looked downright edible as she focused on the task. Her lips would pucker and move each time she sucked in a breath.
