demeaning situation he’d put me in. My bare foot began to tap impatiently beneath the table, temper rising higher each second he took to make up his damn mind. His boot gently came down on my foot to halt the tapping. “Tea.” Pouring him a cup, I asked, “Sugar?” “No.” With a plop, the sugar cube sank to the bottom of his cup, and I slid it to him with the hope he was allergic. Just as I picked my fork back up, he opened his mouth again. “Now that I think about it, water would be better.” My restraint snapped, and the first words to enter my mind escaped. “Why are you the way that you are?” The smallest flicker of humor arose, but at the disrespectful tone, his eyes darkened, and that expensive boot pressed a little harder on my foot. “You’re narcissistic I find you amusing.” While that sentence wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, it hit its mark and filled the space between us with a silent awareness. He was mocking my play on “lucky” from our earlier conversation. The devil understood the workings of my chaotic mind so well, I wasn’t sure what it said about me. A sense of closeness constricted my throat, and I pulled my foot out from underneath his boot. I’d most assuredly screwed my chances of gaining any freedom today, and I’d lost the humility to beg for it. I needed to cut my losses before I felt the sharp bite of fangs. “May I be excused?” His eyes narrowed. “No.” See, this was what happened when I tried to behave. We sat in a tense and uncomfortable silence for too long. I was beyond full, so I entertained myself by pulling my leftover toast into tiny pieces. Ronan wasn’t even eating but checking his messages while I was forced to sit there like a child at the dinner table. “Are you going to eat?” I blurted. “Or do you prefer to dine on human hearts in private?” He glanced up at me. “You know what I prefer to dine on in private.” Unwilling to continue that conversation, I changed the subject. “I want to talk to my papa.” “Tough.”