Page 26 of Shameless Royalty

Malachi snorts, shaking his head. “You already know everythin’. Why ask?”

“I don’t know everythin’ about you,” I say, shrugging. “I know what your da’s done. That’s not the same thing.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his shoulders tightening. Then he sighs. “Alright, if it’ll shut you up.”

“Not likely,” I mutter, earning myself a glare.

He glances at me, skeptical, but after a moment, he sighs. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

I shrug. “Start with the basics. What were you doing before all this? Studyin’ or workin’?”

“Both,” he says reluctantly. “I was studyin’ marine biology at university on a scholarship. And I worked at a coffee shop to pay for housin’ and shite..”

“Marine biology?” I raise an eyebrow. “What were you plannin’ on doin’ with that? Save the planet?”

“Something like that,” he mutters. “Thought maybe I’d go into conservation or somethin’.”

“That’s… unexpectedly noble,” I admit, genuinely impressed. “How’d you end up workin’ at a coffee shop?”

He shrugs. “Needed money and didn’t want to ask my da. So, I got a job pullin’ espresso shots and puttin’ up with arseholes who think their cappuccino foam isn’t foamy enough.”

I chuckle. “Sounds like hell.”

“It was,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “But it wasn’t all bad. I liked the regulars. And I got to drink as much coffee as I wanted.”

“That explains the sass,” I say with a smirk. “Caffeine overdose.”

He laughs, and it’s the first genuine laugh I’ve heard from him since he got here. It’s soft and warm, and it makes something inmy chest tighten. I don’t let it show, though. Instead, I grin and keep walking.

I nod, filing that little nugget of information away. “Alright. Favorite animal?”

He glances at me, surprised. “Why do you care?”

“I’m curious. Humor me.”

He rolls his eyes but answers. “Snow leopard.”

“Solid choice,” I say, impressed. “Why?”

“They’re beautiful,” he says, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. “And strong. But they don’t make a big show of it. They’re… quiet.”

“Like you,” I say, smirking. “Well, except for the quiet part.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters. “What about you?”

I glance at him, surprised. “What about me?”

He shrugs. “You know all my dirty laundry. Fair’s fair.”

I grin. “I’m an open book, Babyface. What do you want to know?”

“Stop calling me that,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Why the tattoos?”

I glance down at my arms, the ink twisting and curling like it’s alive. “What, these?”

“No, the invisible ones,” he deadpans. “Yes, those.”

I chuckle, running a hand over my forearm. “They’re little pieces of who I am, what I’ve done. Some of it’s for protection, some of it’s for show. All of it’s part of me.”

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