Bridgette
"I should be asking you the same question." A strong Italian voice echoed.
Never in a million years would I have thought I would find myself in such a position, sandwiched between two devilishly handsome men with high testosterone, playing knights in shining armor.
I winced, shifting slightly to accommodate my burning ankle, which was currently bearing the brunt of being jostled around by these two men. Not that they had any idea of my pain, and I admit that was partly my fault.
If only I hadn't rushed out of Rhysand's car in a fit of anger. Then I wouldn't have stumbled against a rock and almost fallen face-first into a puddle of murky water. Luckily I had been saved from that frightening ordeal, and it just happened to be by none other than Paul Varlesk, also known as Mr. P
