She lunged for the paper, fingers brushing his knuckles. "Alaric!"
"Yes, my bride?" He was infuriatingly calm… right until she dug her fingers into his ribs.
"Haa—!" His pen skidded across the page. "Woman—don't—"
She was laughing now, eyes sparkling. "Oh, I think I will. Consider it punishment for being an antisocial vampire."
"Stop—tickling—me—Salviana—ahh" he half-growled, half-laughed, trying to keep his grip on the parchment as she stole it.
"You're adorable," she said between giggles, tossing the quill aside.
He caught her wrist, tugging her closer until she was practically in his lap, their laughter still warm in the air. "Fine," he murmured against her ear, voice rich with mock defeat, "we'll go. But you're making the small talk."
"Or do you not want to get married to me?"
Alaric froze, his dark eyes widening, and then narrowing with a kind of wounded fire. His voice dropped, low and reverent.
