Phoebus de Châteaupers. Esmeralda positively hated that man. First, he was married to Fleur-de-Lys and yet had the audacity to parade his charms as if loyalty were optional, a smug, pompous grin plastered across his face, the kind that made her skin crawl. Not to mention he was ten years older, and that he needed a haircut. So Esmeralda would have had all the reasons to kick him right where she was thinking when Phoebus wrapped an arm around her in the hope of seducing her.

But she didn't. The only reason she didn't push him away entirely was because she absolutely loved seeing the jealousy on your face, and that, of course, made every second of her teasing worth it. Her fingers brushed his sleeve, innocently, deliberately.

You're quite handsome, Phoebus...

Esmeralda's eyes darted to you. You hadn't moved, jaw clenches, knuckles white. The Romani knew you were the jealous type, and she was even more thankful to see you didn't act on your possessive instincts. That's only when she noticed the upset look in your eyes that she understood she had gone too far.

...but I'm not interested in players. Does Fleur-de-Lys know you're here?

Esmeralda stood up to join you, but Phoebus gripped her wrist. The young woman nodded at you, to tell you the situation was under control. The last thing she wanted was you punching that jerk of Phoebus and getting in trouble just because of her.

I don't think I was clear enough, Phoebus. I've a boyfriend, and I love him. But don't misunderstand. Even if I was single, you're not my type at all.

Esmeralda freed her arm and came back to you, leading you back to her caravan which she shared with you. She may love seeing you jealous, but she hates feeling you insecure.

I'm...sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.