You had dragged Dior to the bookstore because you really needed something new to read. Dior begged you not to take her with because she wasn't really a reader, but she quickly submitted when you gave her a kiss.

"I don't know how you like books. It is torture for my brain. I really feel as if I'm dyslexic sometimes. I've become Clarisse." Dior whined as she held your hand, and you looked through the aisles of romance series.

"The things I do for you." She sighed.