Move

Julian glared at him, his cheekbones a little pink. “That was a dick move,” he said, glancing back at Nasr, who was left standing in the middle of the dance floor.

“He’s much too old for you,” Devlin said, stroking his thumb against Julian’s wrist.

“Stop scent-marking me,” Julian gritted out, his color heightening. “And he isn’t too old. He’s half Korf’s age.”

“That shouldn’t be your measuring stick,” Devlin said. “I told you I wouldn’t allow your uncle to give you to Korf. You deserve better.”

Julian chuckled. “Better? Who?”

Devlin’s lips thinned. “Someone better than Nasr.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Viscount Nasr. He’s perfectly nice and pleasant, and he actually sees me for being me. I’ve known him forever—he has a neighboring estate. He was always nice to me when I was a child.”

“That hardly says good things about him, does it? What a creep.”

Julian stomped on his right foot. “You’re being an ass,” he said, his voice a mix of annoyed and bewildered. He blinked a few times. “I do