Pheobe had never imagined that the young man before her actually thought she had Stockholm syndrome.
She was still basking in the joy of Tris calling her pretty twice in a row.
Reason told her that what Tris had said did not really count as compliments. But absolute rationality was a rare thing in human beings.
And in France, such individuals were even rarer than elsewhere in the world. On top of that, Pheobe had one-quarter Veela blood, and Veela were magical creatures particularly prone to letting their emotions go to their heads.
Right now, Pheobe was getting a little carried away. As a result, her thinking was just a little less than rational.
"Let me tell you, even if you call me pretty, I'm not just going to forget what you owe me," Pheobe said, her wide eyes glaring at him.
When the hell did I call you pretty?
All right, I did say it twice.
But that was just acknowledging reality at most. How was that a compliment?
Growing ever more convinced that this girl had a screw loose, Tris waved a hand. "Fine, fine, you're pretty, so you're right. But I don't have time to waste on you today. My family's waiting for me to come home for dinner. Move aside."
You're pretty, you're pretty, you're pretty...
Was this damned guy complimenting me again, trying to get me to let him off?
Of all Tris's firm words, the only part Pheobe registered was "you're pretty." Still, though she was getting carried away and her reasoning had taken a rather strange turn,
deep down, she did remember that she had come to settle the score from last time!
"Hmph, don't think you can sweet-talk your way out of this. Today, I will wipe away the humiliation of our