Eighteen:
Prince Marlowe
I sat on the couch, and Margot sat next to me eating a bagel while drinking coffee.
“What could they possibly be talking about?” I asked.
Margot shrugged. “World peace?”
I frowned. “Be serious.”
“I am being serious,” she said, “you need to stop freaking out every time she talks to another guy. You guys haven’t even done anything yet. You’ve got no claim to her. Actually, your cousin has more claim to her than you do.”
I clenched my hands together in fists. “Trust me, after last night, he won’t.”
“I highly doubt that,” said Margot, “your Gran likes him better.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me once,” Margot said, “granted, she was drunk on Christmas punch. But she did say that out of all her grandsons, Victor was her favorite. I think she thin
