Damon’s hand freezes mid-motion, and he stares at me like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Come on," I say, leaning back against the couch. "You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The way she looks at you? The way she treats every woman who so much as breathes near you like a mortal enemy? It’s textbook."
Damon shakes his head, as if trying to dispel the thought. "Shantelle doesn’t love anyone but herself."
"Right. That’s why she spent the entire last hour glaring at me like I’d kicked her puppy. She’s practically glowing with self-love."
His jaw tightens, and I can tell he’s trying to keep his cool. "She’s dramatic, that’s all. Shantelle doesn’t—"
"Ask her. When we get to England, take her somewhere fancy, pull out all the stops, and as
