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Coups de cœur Cultura
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The first time I met Fitz or to most of the world Duke Fitzegerald Heraldo Belleville, I punched him in the throat.
I was actually aiming for his chin, but he was a few years older, clearly not wiser, but at least taller.
He started wheezing on his candy cane.
And well, the rest is history.
Hate replaced what could have been friendship, and for the rest of my teen years, I watched him flirt with every single breathing female.
I hated him.
Plotted his death with a smile on my face.
And knew that my first decree as Queen would be to chop off his head.
Except now that I'm finally old enough to inherit the title, there's one tiny little slip-up.
I need a man by my side.
The problem?
I may have accidentally scared them all away.
I have no options.
Until the devil rings my doorbell with a wicked grin on his face and revenge dancing like sugarplums in his gaze.
I hate that I need him.
It's a serious problem.
We have twelve days before we say I do.
I just pray we survive without killing each other first.
