Grayson reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a sleek, solid black credit card with no numbers printed on it—only an ancient family crest stamped in silver. He slapped it onto the counter with dramatic flair.
"Keep the remainder of the balance on this card," Grayson commanded the barista sternly. "Use it to buy yourself better manners when addressing nobility."
"Grayson, you cannot give a thousand-dollar tip for two croissants!" Mailah protested, trying to grab his hand.
"I am of infinite riches, Mailah," Grayson declared proudly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. "A king does not carry pocket change. Besides, if I make him rich, he will leave this bakery and never look at my beautiful wife again."
Mailah covered her face with her small hands, chuckling hopelessly against his chest. "You are completely ridiculous."
"I am thoroughly devoted," Grayson corrected smoothly, kissing the top of her head.
