ROSETTE’S POV
He laughed at the right parts — the sword fight, the battle of wits, Inigo’s revenge. He made appropriately scathing comments about the grandson’s interruptions.
He even quoted “As you wish” back at the screen with a dramatic flourish that made me snort into my popcorn.
But something was different.
His hand kept finding my skin, sliding under the hem of my sweater, tracing patterns on my hip like he was memorizing the shape of me.
Every time I shifted, his arm tightened, pulling me back against him with an urgency that hadn’t been there before.
When Westley and Buttercup kissed, he turned my face toward him and kissed me instead. Deep and slow, thorough, like he was trying to pour something into me that words couldn’t hold.
“What was that for?” I asked when he finally
