““Fuckin’ hell,” he murmured. “And really,” I foolishly went on, “your language is quite—” “Do not fuckin’ tell me what my language is,” he cut me off to bite out. “And do not stand across Lydie’s fuckin’ kitchen and give me your bullshit,” he ordered and I blinked. Then my back snapped straight. “Pardon me?” “You’re standin’ in Lydie’s kitchen knowin’ what she wanted for you, and what that was is me .””
