Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott

"Shut up." His voice was different this time-stripped of its usual cockiness, replaced by something colder, something dangerous. Oh.

She saw it then-the flicker of something raw in his eyes, quickly buried. A weak spot. A wound still fresh beneath the layers of arrogance and indifference. And she struck again.
"Did I hit a nerve?" she mocked him. "You're a joke, Nott." She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You act like you're all cool and breezy, but it's all a lie."

"You don't know what-"
"I do, actually. I'm a very good observant and let me tell you," She pressed her finger into his chest again, each word deliberate. "Of all the people I've observed I have never encountered someone as shallow," Another jab. His chest rose and fell, his breathing heavier than before.
"Empty," Again. This time, his eyes flashed with something dangerously close to anger.
She should stop. She knew she should. But she didn't.
"And pathetic as-" The words caught in her throat and Theodore's lips were on hers.

Ophelia Selwyn wondered if it was too late to choose a life as a fugitive. Her previous concerns about where she would go or how she would survive all on her own were looking more and more unimportant and attainable. Anything would be better than being betrothed to Theodore Nott.

At least she knew the feeling was reciprocated.