The Boys' Past Flings (Marcus POV)

Niall sits on a marble bench, tending to his new shoes. He has servants to do that for him, yet here he is, scrubbing them tenderly as if holding a lover.

He wears a wide smile.

"Why do you have such a grin on your face?"

"What's it to you? I'm just happy." He's suspicious, he smells the danger. As he should.

It's time to poke him.

"Did one of your girls come over again?"

"One of my what? They are customers."

"Oh please. You're not that good of a herbalist. They're here because they want a piece of that fancy ass of yours."

Pink creeps onto his cheeks. He knows what's up with the women on his doorstep. Is he truly interested in helping them, too? Perhaps. But equally as much he likes the attention. And does anything in his power to try and deny it. 

Classic Niall.

"They're not getting any pieces of me, fancy or not. I—"

"None of them?"

"Well, not every one of them."

"I certainly hope so! That would be a health hazard."

"Marcus! I'm not sleeping with my customers."

"You just admitted that you are."

Ah, splendid. The color of his skin now matches his hair.

He purses his lips and takes a deep breath, preparing for a counter-attack.

"Why won't we talk about your love life, huh?" He tries to rise up to the challenge. Poor boy, still thinking he can best me.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"What about that woman who you made cry?"

"You answered your own question." It wasn't my fault anyway. She misunderstood what I wanted out of that relationship.

"What about that man who—"

"I made him cry, too. Are you just trying to point out that I'm 'a mean, mean man'?" I almost roll my eyes. That's a tired old tactic. He should know better than to think that I care.

He nods and looks at his shoe. Then, he looks at me with a wily smile.

"What about your wife?"

Anger flashes through me. "I have not agreed to anything and I—"

"Have you told Hati?"

What? "No. Why would I?"

"You're agitated. I think you [i]think[/i] you should tell him." 

That slimy little…

"I'm not obligated to share information about my personal life with anyone."

He squints his eyes at me. "I think you [i]think[/i] you do. With Hati."

Why are we talking about Hati, anyway? "Have you told him about your many, many flings?"

"I don't have many flings!"

"The women—"

"I don't sleep with them! Not [i]all[/i] of them. And not anymore! Besides, I'm not—"

"Interested in Hati, huh? Why are you so red, then?"

"I'm that way because you keep prodding me with your idiocy. I'm tired." He pouts.

Ha! I won. "Now now," I say. It's time to mend our relationship after my apparent victory. "I believe you." I don't, and neither does he.

But that will be a cause for a delightful little dispute for another day.