Page 25 of Shameless Royalty

“I amnotblushin’,” he snaps, his voice muffled by the book.

“Sure you’re not,” I say, chuckling as I grab the chair and spin it around, straddling it. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold. You can swoon over me later.”

“I amnotswooning!” he snaps again, lowering the book just enough to glare at me.

“I can see that,” I tease, grabbing a piece of toast from the tray and taking a bite.

He stares at me, clearly torn between throwing the book at my head and retreating into it entirely. Eventually, he gets up and grabs the tray before walking back to his bed. Then he starts picking at the food, grumbling under his breath the entire time.

“See?” I say, leaning forward on the chair. “Was that so hard? A little breakfast, a little company, and a lot of unnecessary blushin’. It’s practically domestic.”

“Go away,” he mutters, but there’s no real venom in his tone. He shoves a piece of toast in his mouth, probably to keep from saying something else.

“Don’t wanna,” I say, grinning as I cross my arms on the back of the chair. “So, what’s the plan for today, Babyface? Another walk? More books?”

“For the love of Christ, stop callin’ me Babyface,” he snaps, pointing his fork at me.

“Make me,” I say, my grin widening.

He glares at me for a moment, then shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “bloody bastard.”

I chuckle, standing and stretching for good measure. His eyes flick toward me again, just for a second, before darting back to his plate. The blush is back, and it’s fucking glorious.

“Alright,” I say, grabbing the chair and setting it back in place. “I’ll let you eat in peace. For now.”

“Finally,” he mutters, not looking up.

I head for the door, pausing just before I step out. Glancing back, I catch him sneaking a quick look—at my back, no less—and the corner of my mouth twitches.

“Enjoy the view, Malachi,” I say, throwing him a wink as I step into the hall.

The door shuts behind me, but I can still hear him cursing under his breath. I can’t stop grinning all the way back to my room.

Malachi Dawson might be a pain in the ass, but he’s quickly becoming the most interesting part of my day.

And I’m not about to let him forget it.

I push Malachi’s door open without knocking. He’s lying on the bed on his stomach, nose buried in a book from the new stash I brought him. When he looks up, his expression instantly shifts to that same irritation I think is reserved just for me.

“What now?” he asks, snapping the book shut.

“We’re going for a walk,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

He snorts, shutting the book. “You’ve got a weird obsession with draggin’ me around this estate. What’s the point?”

“It’s good for you,” I say, smirking. “Fresh air, a bit of exercise. Keeps you from losin’ your shite completely.”

He snorts, setting the book on the desk. “Fine, whatever. But if this turns into another lecture about my father—”

“Relax, Babyface,” I cut in, already amused by his defensive tone. “No lectures. Just a walk. Unless you’re too scared of a little cardio?”

Malachi groans but doesn’t argue. He sets the book aside and pulls on his shoes, muttering something under his breath about “bossy bastards” as he follows me out of the room. I let it slide, grinning to myself as we head outside. It’s quiet, save for the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional bird chirping overhead.

“So,” I say, breaking the quiet, “tell me about yourself.”

He glances at me, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, where’d you work? Study? What were you doin’ before all this?” I gesture vaguely at the estate.

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