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"Are you not going to rage kiss me?" Celine asked when Lucian continued to laugh at her expense. "That's how you should have responded after I told you to jump out the window and die. You know the saying: If they can't bear staying by your side, make them crawl at your feet instead."
"I have no idea where you get these sayings from, but rage kiss? What is that?"
"It's the Crown Prince's favorite way of ending fights with that little pet of his. I wanted to give it a try, but ended up with a kick in the gut instead. I wonder what I'm missing." She held her stomach, throwing the blame at the Crown Prince as if she would have never forced herself on Lucian if she hadn't seen someone else do it.
"The Crown Prince is not a good source of reference, Celine," he said, his gentle tone making her think she was about to receive some life-changing wisdom. Instead, she got a reminder of the obvious, "You'll get hurt."
"He gets to kiss his lover whenever he wants, so he must be doing something right," she said. "I lack strength and speed compared to you, but nothing a gun can't fix, right? Then you go out of your way and shoot yourself before I can even threaten you with it. You pushed me to the point where I had to use the most underhanded tactics possible, Lucian, so I will hold you accountable for that."
"You are not making any sense."
"That's why I need that rage kiss, to shut me up. For an expert in love and romance, you sure are dense. I feel cheated on. You should've kissed me so hard, I'd forget about all the bad things you've done, and all the good things I could have had." She could feel the numbness in her chest rising to her head, and she was able to breathe a little better. This was how she was supposed to feel when he was around. In control, and in power. "How can you still be so slow even after all these years? Did your brain grow rusty from disuse?"
He continued to be quiet, showing zero initiative in shutting her up with a kiss, zero attempts at touching her to make her flustered, and zero interest in ending the fight.
"Wear some shoes before leaving," he finally said and stepped back to pick up her boots from the ground, "If you want better treatment, go and find yourself a better man. Preferably a man you can stand for more than five minutes before wanting to tear him apart."
She scoffed, "Why would I look for another man, when I can just beat you into shape? You are already halfway there, and I am not a quitter."
"..." He shook his head, and crouched down, gently taking her foot into his hand, slipping on her boot. "Rage kissing is for people who can't stand their partners' attitude and want to punish them for it. In your case, it would have been a reward for your bad behavior."
She let him put on her boots without a complaint, "I know, I'm not that stupid. I thought that if I made you think that I still want your kisses, you would likely just punish me by not touching me at all. You can't deny that no touching is better than touching badly."
Whatever he did to her leg, it stung like hell!
Be nice. Be sweet. Don't get mad, get even. She dropped her gaze to the floor. He looked so good at putting on shoes for her that she was almost ready to push him into a butler's uniform. Her attention was drawn to the way he tenderly tightened the laces and tied the strings, as if he were wrapping the world's most expensive present, and had to make it perfect. Dazing off at the sight, she missed his reply. Whatever, it had to be something snarky, anyway.
Sighing, he finished tying her shoelaces and stood back up to face her, "Dinner? Tonight? At eight?"
Celine blinked twice. When did her fantasies become so vivid and detailed? She could even smell the faint scent of cologne coming off him. She raised a hand towards his cheek, and he slapped it away. "Oh."
He turned to the side, and she could see his face reddening in anger, the vein on his neck pulsing when he had to repeat his question, "Is eight too late?"
"I don't have to pay for your food, do I?" Celine asked, trying to shake off the shock of being invited first.
"No."
"It won't be some rundown tavern or sketchy inn, is it?" She didn't mind his revenge, but it didn't mean she would go and willingly take part in it.
"It's the fanciest restaurant in the city."
"Are you going to make a scene at the restaurant? Like yell at me, or throw a glass at my head? Or just dump soup on my lap?"
"..." He squinted, "...No. Unless you want me to?"
It was much easier to accept that his invitation was just some trick, rather than think that he was serious. She would rather not get her hopes up, only to have them crushed again.
"Will you get me a gift?" She asked, "Something with a great resale value, in case I don't like your company and want to pawn it off to get some of my money back?"
"..." He flicked her on the forehead, "You're pushing your luck. I can just take back my invitation and go eat dinner by myself."
She covered her forehead, smiling, "What should I wear? Something that screams 'This man is mine, keep your hands off', or 'This man asked me for a date, I came here out of pity'?"
He coughed into his fist, "Just look decent and don't embarrass me."
"Right," she said, nodding her head as he walked toward the window to leave. "Decency is my middle name, of course, I will look decent."
He almost slipped on the windowsill in his hurry to leave. Couldn't he be more obvious in wanting to get away from her as quickly as possible? It was not the end of the world if he had to spend a few more minutes with her, was it?
The numbness in her chest was fading, and her heart was beating so fast, she had to sit down for a moment to get her breathing under control.
'Don't think about the destination, just enjoy the journey.'
Her ending was not going to be a happy one, but that did not mean the days leading up to it had to be sad ones.
She was going to be greedy and take all that she could get, and when her last day arrived, she was going to die with a smile on her face.