Dance with me, Princess.”
“I can’t dance,” I breathe, holding on to his hand because I never want to let go of him.
His lips tip up into a grin. “Neither can I. Dance with me anyway.”
“I’ll step on your toes.”
The apples of his cheeks catch the light. “Then I’ll say thank you.”
“They’ll bruise.”
“You won’t see me complain about having your mark on me.”
“Bruises aren’t love marks.”
He leans forward until his hot breath feathers against my ear. “Do you want to test that theory? Give me thirty seconds, and everyone will take one look at your neck and how irrevocably mine you are.”
“I’m not yours.” I am his. Wholly and completely.
“Liar,” he whispers.
“I’m not a liar either.” Lie.
“You’re right. You’re Isabella, my sweet, sweet Bella.”
“I’m not.”
Leaning his forehead against mine, he says, “You can think that, but just know I’m yours.”
“Liar.” Biting the inside of my lip, I smile.
“I am. But not to you. Never to you,” he promises. “Dance with me, Isabella. Let me hold you.”
“I’ll trip.”
With each excuse, his eyes darken. “When have I ever let you fall? If you did, I’d be right there beside you. We’re Romeo and Juliet.”
Frowning, I chuckle. “They killed themselves, Mickey.”
“Do you doubt what I’d do for you, Isabella? If you’re in a grave, I’m in one. I promised you forever. We won’t end in death.”