Page 112 of Vengeful Princess

An accurate projection of the future?

Absolutely.

I didn’t need a set of tarot cards and a crystal ball to show me what lay ahead. Landon’s sister was in a similar position, except her husband was at least age appropriate and she probably liked him.

If only Fate gifted me Landon Fucking Rothmore as my future husband. But I wasn’t that lucky. In ten years, he would have married some blond with a name like Amelia or Portia. The society pages would be full of double-spread features showing off their country estate, kids, and impeccable taste in interior design.

Was I jealous of the mythical Amelia and Portia?

Yes.

I stabbed my notebook viciously. Cassian’s fingers paused on his keyboard while he glanced sideways.

“Do I need to be worried?” he whispered, leaning in. A whiff of cedar assailed my nose, and I inhaled deeply. Why did he smell so good? They all smelled amazing. It was pure torture.

“Not you. You’re good.” He looked down at my latest violent doodles and smirked.

“I am, yes.”

The professor’s voice faded away as my libidinous brain taunted me with images of a naked Cassian. I didn’t even need to use my imagination. It turned out Google had plenty of fan accounts devoted to Cassian Forsyth, all full of carefully curated images, some of them candid shots of him shirtless, looking like a Greek God.

Had I used them as spank bank material?

Yes.

Was I ashamed of it?

Hell, no. A girl had needs.

“Egotistical asshole,” I muttered while rolling my eyes.

“Got something to add to the discussion, Miss Ricci?” Professor Dickhead said in a loud voice.

I squirmed uncomfortably on my hard chair, disliking the way everyone turned to look at me with a mix of envy (Cassian sat next to me) and scorn (I’d pulled on an old sweater with a hole in the sleeve after my workout and paired it with ancient Levis).

“Um no, thanks.” Professor Dickhead glared at me for a few long seconds before resuming his lecture. Cassian carried on typing, and I spent the rest of the lesson doodling pictures of the professor dying in horrible ways.

It was very satisfying.

“Check your emails, people!”

I sailed out of class, eager for coffee and calories. The professor’s words barely made a dent in my consciousness as I hustled along the covered passageway to the cafeteria.

The temperature had risen in the last few days and college was no longer snowed in. Eden was excited about that, as her cousins had planned a trip to Glasgow and invited her over for the evening. She’d asked me if I wanted to go with her, but I’d declined.

I was much too socially awkward to sit with a bunch of strangers, even with alcohol involved. And besides, Declan Kelly was Irish Mafia, so I didn’t think it was a good idea to be on his radar. Not with who my father was.

He might see the family resemblance and shoot me in the face. Last time I checked, Dad had pissed off Seamus Kelly, Declan’s father, and relations were fraught.

The cafeteria was still half-empty, so I grabbed a coffee, filled a plate with pasta, and took a table by the window. It wasn’t until I’d demolished my food that I bothered to check my email.

Oh, great. Professor Dickhead had paired me with Cassian. I sat for a moment while considering whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

It was both.

A good thing because it meant we would need to spend more time together, which my father would be delighted about. A bad thing because he’d expect me to pull my weight on the project. And I had zero interest in working long hours on building an imaginary company.

“I see you’ve read your email?” I looked up just as Cassian sat down opposite me with a tray of food. Unlike me, he’d picked up a healthy wrap and bottle of carrot juice. Gross.

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