King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

That being said, it wouldn’t be proper to skip an official celebration, would it?

“So,” I said casually as Sloane stripped off her clothes in preparation for a shower. “Did you mean—”

“No.” She knew what I was going to say before I said it. “We don’t have time. We’ll be la—aaaate!” Sloane shrieked with laughter as I grabbed her and hauled her onto the bed.

She was right. We did show up late to Isabella’s party, but we’d also christened the first of many rooms in our house.

I couldn’t think of a better way to start the next chapter of our lives together.





SLOANE

“You were right. This was exactly what I needed.” I stretched my arms over my head with a content sigh. “I could stay here forever.”

“Say that again,” Xavier said.

“What?”

“The first three words. You were right.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t restrain a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you’re here with me. What does that say about you?” he teased. A breeze swept through his hair, ruffling the black strands as we walked along the beach.

“That I’m a masochist.”

“Ah. I knew there was a reason why I loved you.”

I laughed, unable to keep up my pretense when he looked so relaxed and happy, and I felt so relaxed and happy.

We were nearing the end of our month-long trip to Spain. Xavier had surprised me with the tickets last Christmas, but we’d waited for the weather to warm up before we came.

Our housekeeper was taking care of Feisty, the Vault was finally running smoothly enough on its own for Xavier to take that much time off, and I’d left Kensington PR in Jillian’s capable hands. I’d promoted her to my Director of Office Operations last year, with a matching pay raise, and I had full confidence in her ability to run the ship while I was gone. I still checked my email compulsively whenever Xavier was in the shower or getting us drinks, but I no longer felt the need to control everything that came across my inbox.

After all, I was on vacation.

So for the past three and a half weeks, Xavier and I had eaten, slept, and drank our way through Madrid, Seville, Valencia, and Barcelona before ending in the place that’d started it all: Mallorca.

The island had marked the first big turning point in our relationship. Since our first vacation here had been cut short, it seemed appropriate to return and finish what we’d started.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Xavier asked, lacing his fingers through mine. “We can go dancing again, or we can stay in.”

“Let’s stay in. If I dance anymore, my feet are going to fall off.” We’d gone to a different club every night for the past three nights, often staying out until the sun rose, and my body was ready to sue.

At least my dancing skills had improved, thanks to Xavier.

We lapsed into comfortable silence as the sun dipped below the horizon, transforming the sky into a palette of tangerines and lavenders. The clouds seemed to catch fire at the edges, a spectacle captured by the tranquil mirror of the ocean.

I waited for a familiar stab of sadness, but it never came. In hindsight, I hadn’t felt it for a while, but I’d never noticed its absence until now.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Xavier said. “You look like you’re surprised about something.”

A smile touched my lips. He always knew me so well.

“I used to hate sunsets,” I admitted. “I thought they were depressing. Sunsets represented endings, and they reminded me that every good thing comes to an end. I always felt sad when I saw one, but now…I don’t think they’re so bad.” I shrugged. “I like nights better than days, anyway.”

Nights meant dinners at home, beneath the chandelier we’d fallen in love with during our last trip to Paris. They meant crackling fires and conversations in bed, the type that meandered easily until one or both of us fell asleep. Nights were love and warmth and moonlight, my safe haven from the world.

Without sunsets, there would be no nights, and just like that, my decades-old animosity toward the otherwise beloved phenomena dissolved as quietly as if it’d never existed.

“Good,” Xavier said softly. “I like nights better, too.”

Later that evening, when we curled up on the couch to watch a movie, I didn’t bother retrieving my review notebook.

I just wanted to enjoy the film, and I did. The office meet-cute, the montage of cute dates, the hero running through the airport for his grand gesture, even the happy ending featuring a pet dog and a ring—I loved it all.

I had no business judging others’ clichés.

After all, I was on a romantic European getaway with my long-term boyfriend, who’d started as a client I hated before we gradually fell in love—only I’d been too stubborn to admit it—and I’d almost lost him before I came to my senses and reconciled with him at the top of the Empire State Building.

Now we lived together in a town house with a pet fish and a rooftop movie theater, and we were nauseatingly, disgustingly blissful.

Who said happily ever afters were unrealistic?

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