I was immediately wary of the mischievous smirk spreading over his lips. “Well then, what about all the other things you said Friday night? Do they count?” His brows shot up innocently.
My face felt entirely too hot, my palms slick with sweat. Oh my fuckinggods. I could only imagine what I’d said under the influence of that damned poison. I groaned internally, and in that moment I would have happily died of shame in exchange for the promise that I would never be forced to relive it.
“Casimir,” I began, trying to suppress the note of panic in my tone, “tell me what I said while I was blacked out on Daemon wine. Right now.”
His teeth flashed into a grin. He was clearly enjoying watching me squirm. “Hmm,” he scratched his chin pensively.
Fucking bastard.
“Not much.”
A glimmer of relief surged through me, and then he shrugged.
“Mostly you went on and on about how I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and that you’d love nothing more than to stare into my eyes all day...” He sighed dreamily.
I closed my eyes as a hot wave of humiliation crashed over me. I thought I’d debased myself before, but nothing—nothingheld a candle to this. This was Dante’s Inferno level low. I’d sunk to the seventh circle of hell, and then dug myself a few miles deeper. A pathetic noise, somewhere between a whine and a groan escaped my throat as my humiliation reached its peak.
Daemon wine was truly evil.
“You’re lying,” I tried.
“Oh,” he chuckled, eyes positively sparkling with mirth, “I can assure you that I’m not.”
I pressed my face into the pillow, attempting to burrow further into the bed. If I were lucky, the mattress would swallow me whole.
He only laughed harder. “Don’t worry, I got you out of there before you did any real damage to your stellar reputation. No one besides me overheard your inebriated ramblings.”
Well, that was something, I supposed.
“As for the kiss…” he added with a grin. “We can try again when you’ve recovered.”
His suggestion crackled in the air between us. My entire body heated, but my face was—mercifully—still concealed by the pillow. Was he serious? I had to know. I glanced up, jaw agape,to find him still watching me with a lilting smirk, entirely at ease.
Yep. Just like I’d said. Arrogant and conceited.
I groaned audibly this time. “You are not allowed to torture me with this,” I warned. “I was drunk. I wasn’t in my right mind.” I would never, ever forgive myself for allegedly professing a deep, if misguided, admiration for him in my staggering delirium, but I could at least stop him from constantly teasing me about it.
He only grinned more impishly. “I’ll do whatever I please, Farrow.”
“If you ever mention this to anyone?—”
“You’ll what?” he challenged, his brow arching.
“I’ll—” I grasped for something to threaten him with. “I’ll tell the Dean you’re the one who broke Monty’s finger. Ouverham has little tolerance for violence. You’d be expelled within the week.”
Casimir’s expression was downright mirthful as he leaned in to say, “That’s assuming the little prick would dare tattle on me in the first place.”
Shit. He had a point.
Monty was, if anything, a cowardly prat. He probably feared Casimir’s retribution more than he desired vengeance.
Swallowing my defeat, I redirected the conversation once more. “Did we glean anything useful at Bryce’s party, or did I get poisoned and make a fool of myself for nothing?”
Casimir’s brows shot up. “Excuse me, are you forgetting our heist?” He slipped the silver necklace from his pocket and held it aloft, allowing the rows of embedded diamonds to catch the light.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, how could I forget?” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. Hisstupidheist. “Glad my humiliation was worth the prize.”
He leveled me with a glare. “If you’d actuallywearthe necklace, it might be.”