Page 154 of Kingmakers, Year Four

“I love it!” I tell him, honestly. “It looks like we’re in the middle of nowhere. But we’re five minutes from Shake Shack.”

Rafe laughs. My growing obsession with American burgers has toured us through every grill in a fifty-mile radius.

“I want to buy this house for you,” he says. “I thought we could live here when we get married in the spring. If you really do like it.”

I can’t speak. My heart is beating too hard.

The cabin is right on the edge of the cliff. From the back deck, we’ll be able to watch the sun set over the ocean. A set of rotting wooden steps leads down the cliff to the beach.

“We’ll fix those,” Rafe says, nodding in the direction of the top step clinging to the rock face by a single nail. “We’ll fix up the whole house. I’ll make it exactly how you want it.”

“If you’re in it,” I say. “That’s the only thing I care about.”

Dean Yenin

Visine Dvorca

December

Cat comesto visit me in the professor’s quarters in the old buttery.

I’m not actually a professor—I’m just the boxing instructor. Taking Snow’s old job for one year while Cat finishes her schooling.

I want to stay close to her.

She comes to see me every evening, and spends most nights curled up on my chest on the narrow single bed. Her roommate Rakel doesn’t mind—she’s having a torrid affair with Jacob Weiss, so she enjoys having the dorm room in the Undercroft to herself.

Cat gasps when I open the door.

“What happened to your face?”

“Oh,” I touch the tender bruise under my right eye. “It’s that little shithead from Coney Island. He just keeps trying his luck.”

Cat tries to hide her smile. “Looks like it worked today. He got you pretty good.”

“I knocked him on his ass,” I assure her. “But I’m sure he’ll try again tomorrow.”

“He’s persistent.”

“He’s a lazy, arrogant asshole,” I say. “If his head were any bigger, it wouldn’t fit in the ring.”

“Hm,” Cat says, not bothering to hide her grin at all anymore. “Reminds me of someone. I can’t think who . . .”

“I was never lazy!” I protest.

“I doubt he is, either, if he’s survived four months in your class,” Cat says, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss me.

“You think I’m too hard on them,” I growl.

“All I’m saying,” Cat murmurs, starting to unbutton her blouse, “is that if you want to take out some of that frustration . . . I’m right here . . .”

An hour later, we’re both laying on the floor, naked and sweating. Cat sprawls across my lap, her bottom as pink as her cheeks.

She’s right . . . I do feel much better now.

I’m stroking her hair in that soothing, petting motion she loves so much.

I can see her ribs expanding with slow, steady breaths. I think she’s falling asleep, until she surprises me by rolling over, looking up into my face.

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