Chapter 18: It's not Love, okay?!

Verbena woke up in a terrible mood, which was strange because last night had been weirdly fun.

The fake date with Raphael—no, Theodore, no, Raphael again—had been ridiculous, embarrassing, chaotic… and yet, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Stupid villain. Stupid fake poetry. Stupid charming smile," she muttered, brushing her hair so violently her scalp protested.

She was NOT falling for him. No way. This was just the side effect of too much stress and maybe a slight lack of iron. Nothing romantic about it.

To prove this very logical point to herself, Verbena marched straight to the dining hall and threw open the door like she was leading a revolution.

"Good morning, my darling wife," Theodore greeted smoothly from the head of the table, looking criminally handsome in his morning robe with messy hair.

Verbena's brain short-circuited for exactly two seconds before rebooting into defense mode.

"Stop calling me that! It's creepy!"

Theodore raised an eyebrow, amused. "But it's true. Legally and romantically."

"Romantically my foot." She stomped to her seat, arms crossed. "Last night was a joke. A silly game. Nothing more."

Theodore rested his chin on his hand. "And yet, you blushed when I called you my beloved."

"I did not!"

"You stuttered too."

"That was indigestion!"

"I see. So the stars in your eyes were also indigestion?"

Verbena picked up her spoon and aimed it at his face like a weapon. "Listen here, villain husband, just because you're tall and have good hair doesn't mean I'm falling for you."

"Of course not." Theodore's smirk widened. "You're just aggressively thinking about me all morning for no reason."

"I'm thinking about you because you're ruining my divorce plans!"

"Ah, so you admit you were thinking about me."

"UGH!"

Verbena attacked her porridge like it had personally offended her ancestors.

Across the table, the head maid and butler exchanged knowing glances.

"She's in love," the maid whispered.

"She's doomed," the butler whispered back.

Later that day, Verbena took a walk to clear her mind, muttering every few steps:

"It's not love."

"It's just mild appreciation."

"Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome."

"Or I'm cursed."

She passed by a pair of noble ladies sitting by the fountain, their giggles loud enough to catch her attention.

"Did you hear? The Duchess and her husband went on a moonlit date last night!"

"They say he read her poetry and fed her cheese by hand like some lovestruck bard!"

Verbena froze. "What the—"

The second lady added, "Apparently, he looked at her like she hung the stars herself! How romantic!"

"I heard they even held hands under the magnolia tree."

Verbena fled the scene before her soul left her body in embarrassment.

How did this get out?! Who was spying on them?!

She stormed into the kitchen, demanding answers from the servants, who all suddenly found the floor very interesting.

"It was just… a misunderstanding, Your Grace," one footman stammered.

"Misunderstanding my foot!" she snapped. "What kind of lunatic spreads cheesy date gossip like that—"

A soft cough interrupted her.

She turned.

Theodore stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of violets, looking way too pleased with himself.

"Oh no," Verbena whispered. "Don't you dare."

Theodore smiled. "I heard you wanted to clear up some misunderstandings about our relationship, my dear wife."

Verbena took one step back. "Stay right there."

"Or should I call you my beloved star-hanger?"

She grabbed the nearest potato and hurled it at his head.

Theodore dodged effortlessly, still smiling. "You're adorable when you're embarrassed."

"I'm NOT embarrassed! I'm outraged! This is slander!"

"It's romantic gossip. Completely different."

"Romantic my—"

Before she could finish, Theodore took her hand—gently, but firmly—and tugged her close.

"Tell me, Verbena," he murmured, "why are you blushing?"

Verbena's brain went blue screen of death.

Her heart thudded violently. It was the proximity, not his handsome villain face or his warm fingers holding hers.

"It's the kitchen heat," she croaked.

"Of course."

Theodore released her, and her traitorous fingers immediately missed the warmth.

This is dangerous, her brain screamed. This is how slow-burn disaster romances start!

She spun on her heel and bolted, shouting over her shoulder, "I'm still filing for divorce!"

"Take your time, beloved."

Behind her, Theodore's low laughter chased her down the hallway.

That night, Verbena sat at her desk, face buried in her hands.

She had two problems now:

1. Her idiot villain husband was way too good at flirting.

2. Her idiot heart was starting to enjoy it.

"It's not love," she whispered to herself. "It's just… slightly enhanced mortal attraction. Temporary brain malfunction. Yes."

She nodded firmly.

Then opened her journal and wrote:

Day 58 of Operation Divorce:

Husband is flirting too much.

His hair looks unfairly good in the morning.

He smells like cedar and disaster.

Noticed he has a cute mole behind his ear.

THIS MEANS NOTHING.

She slammed the journal shut.

Outside her window, Theodore stood leaning against the wall, having overheard every word.

"Cedar and disaster," he murmured. "I could work with that."

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End of Chapter 18