“Are you sure you didn’t take it? You seem to have a thing for sneaking into my room and stealing my things.”
“Your knickers, Princess. I like to steal your knickers, not your knife.”
“Well, you were giving it back because you stole it,” she points out.
“Yeah, okay. Guilty.” I lie back, resting on my elbow and staring down at her as she fully reclines. “I was hoping for a little tit for tat. I return yours, I might get mine.”
“Ah, there’s always an ulterior motive. And to think, I just thought you wanted me to stab Teagan in the leg for even daring to go near my baby.”
“Your baby?” I ask with amusement.
“Yeah, and I miss her. What of it?”
“You’re something else, you know that?”
“Takes one to know one.” Twisting onto her side, we lie facing each other while the waves continue to lap at our feet and the sky around us turns orange with the sunset. “So you didn’t take my knife back again, and the Italians apparently didn’t stab me. So who did, Sherlock?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, baby. Right after how he got your fucking knife if it was safely in your room.”
“You’re suggesting there’s some other sick fuck out there who likes sneaking into my room and leaving little love notes on my mirror?”
“I’m sorry. That was petty.” She quirks a brow. “I thought you were there. I was pissed when I didn’t find you covered in soap and naked in the shower.”
“Nope. I was getting my rocks off with an Italian stallion at Nico’s party.”
A growl rumbles low in my throat, making her chuckle.
“You really are quite possessive, aren’t you, Sebastian?”
“I thought you realised that the second I carved my name into your thigh. And for the record, I’m not sorry about that.”