Page 93 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

Having a man’s pointer finger against my chest while I’m perfectly calm seems a touch illegal, too.

“Xios.”

“Yes, snowflake?”

Setting my chip bag aside, I take his hand in mine, thread our fingers, and say, “Maid uniform.”

“You are joking, are you not?”

“You know I’m not.”

Deflating like a pitiful balloon animal, Alexios appeases me, allowing all the butler pomp to recede into a classic black-and-white set of frills—complete with a ruffled apron and headband. I so wish my phone were on hand. And that it were enchanted to capture the fae.

This is a moment for the scrapbooks.

“Ha ha,” I drone, lips curling.

He squeezes my hand, letting his sardonic smile drip with good-natured ire. “Anything for you.”

“I’m nearly scandalized.”

“Youare nearly scandalized?”

“My guy, you’re normally in long sleeves and pants withgloves.” I shake hisstill-gloved hand and cover my mouth with my free fingers. “Now, you’re in a miniskirt. With short poofy sleeves.” Glancing sidelong toward the neglected characterselection on the TV, I murmur, “Great heavens, you’re pale.”

“Yes. Well.”

“I’m glad we’re not in direct sunlight.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’d go utterly blind.”

“I love you.”

My heart skips a beat, and I find Alexios’s eyes. They’re much too intense, given all the lace. He went all out. He literally crafted every bow pinning the sleeves and skirt in place in his brain, then he garbed himself in them.

Let no one claim he does things halfway.

He’s seriously adorable.

The least threatening man I’ve ever been around.Including Wade.

Even with all thatcan manipulate every aspect of my being with permissionthing.

Huh.

I wonder if that’s why he conceded to my request without any fuss.

He’d rather do something embarrassing to make me happy and comfortable than hold onto any remote semblance of pride, because he doesn’t need it to feel secure.

You know.

Eitherthator he understands, intrinsically, that he looks good in a maid costume and has nothing to be ashamed of where appeasing my nerves is concerned.

What a pretty boy.

Tossing my legs off his lap, I sit up and scooch myself beside him, still holding his hand. A chip I didn’t realize I dropped falls off my chest and into my lap. I stare at it, offended. My shirt is grease-stained. And I really, truly do have an abrasive personality. “God was having a laugh putting us together,” I mutter.

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