Page 115 of Wounded King

Okay, that was hot. Now I need to go try on something inappropriate.

Me:

Send photos. And if anyone looks at you wrong, Alejandro has permission to break knees.

Violet:

I think the salesgirl just bowed to him.

Me:

As she should.

Violet:

Also… uhm… how do you know how much my car costs?

Me:

Wouldn't you like to know?

Violet:

Never mind. Stalker.

Me:

Too late. I'm already adding "nosy kitten" to your contact name.

Violet:

Better than "wallet destroyer."

Me:

That one's reserved for Zia Rosa's grocery bill.

Violet:

You're impossible.

Me:

And yet, here you are… trying on dresses you already know I'm going to take off you. I love it when you try to please your man.

"Please rise for the Honorable Judge Lambert," the bailiff announces, voice echoing through the packed courtroom.

Violet:

I'm going to pretend you didn't just type that.

Me:

Have fun, tesoro, and don't worry about the money.

Everyone stands. The sounds of chairs moving back and the rustling of clothes replace the former buzzing of voices. I tuck my phone away, ignoring the side-eye from the security guard, who wants to make a point. I could make a better one, with far fewer words. But now's not the time for games.

Lambert enters in his black robe like some kind of high priest of justice, carrying the weight of lives in the thin lines around his mouth. He doesn't meet anyone's eyes as he climbs up behind the bench, but he carries himself like a man who already knows the fire he's about to set.