Page 87 of The Defiant Wife

"What?" I shoot.

She smiles. "My bun."

She points toward her head. "Is it that terrible?"

"I'm trying to decide."

She gasps dramatically. "I spend fifteen whole seconds making this masterpiece and you insult it?"

"I'm wondering whether it survived an explosion."

She places a hand over her heart. "That was rude."

"It was accurate."

She narrows her eyes at me. "You know . . . " She points a block at my face. " . . . before I walked in here, you looked like the unhappiest man in the whole world."

"I was perfectly content."

"Liar."

"I was."

She shakes her head. "No."

"You looked like a gargoyle."

"I do not."

"You absolutely did."

She leans a little closer. "But you're having fun now."

"I'm tolerating you."

"Mhm."

She nods knowingly. "That's progress."

I look at her. She's smiling. Really smiling. No walls. No sadness. No pretending. Just . . . happy.

"You make a remarkable amount of noise," I tell her quietly.

She grins. "And yet you're still sitting here."

"I have nowhere to escape."

"There's literally three doors in this room."

I glance toward them. Then back at her. "They're blocked."

"By what?"

"You."

For a second she simply looks at me. Then a tiny flush creeps across her cheeks.

She clears her throat. "Sounds like a personal problem, Prince."