A week after the party.
I pushed the door open and found her exactly where I knew she'd be—curled on the couch, phone in hand, hair spilling down her shoulders in that careless way that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. Duchess was sprawled on the armrest like she owned the entire apartment.
I dropped onto the couch beside Val, close enough that her knee brushed mine.
"Guess what?" I said.
She didn't even look up right away. She just tapped at her screen, thumb moving fast, before pausing and turning her head toward me. Her eyes narrowed, suspicious but playful, the kind of look she only gave me when she thought she had me cornered.
"You finally want to propose," she said. Deadpan.
I blinked. "What? No. I mean—not yet."
Her lips curved, the tiniest smirk tugging at her mouth. "Mm-hm. If you say so."
"Val."
"What?" She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "You brought it up."
