"Aren't balls made for the 1800s?" I sighed.
Molly scoffed at me from across the room where she was laying her clothes out across my bed. "You obviously do not know romance."
She wasn't wrong, and I grimaced knowing it. I understood love well enough — I loved my parents, I loved my wolf — but romance was an entirely different thing. A softer, more delicate kind of care that nobody had ever really pointed in my direction. I doubted Phoenix was the type to offer it either, but I pushed that thought aside before it could settle.
