He looks me up and down slowly. "Couldn't sleep."
"Me either."
Silence stretches between us. I should leave. Should go back to my room and pretend this never happened.
Instead, I step closer.
"You smoke?" I gesture to the cigarette.
"Not usually. Picked it up in prison. Breaks the monotony." He takes a drag. "Want one?"
"No. Bad for the baby."
The mention of the baby makes his expression shift. "Shit, right. Of course, I’m sorry."
More silence.
This is awkward. We're standing in a dark garden at three in the morning, and I'm barely dressed, and all I can think about is the dream. About his mouth on me. His hands.
Stop it.
"You should go back inside," he says quietly. "It's cold."
"I'm fine."
"Aurora—"
"Why did you dance with me tonight?" The question bursts out before I can stop it.
He goes still. "What?"
"At the gala. You cut in. Danced with me in front of everyone. Leo's going to ask questions. People noticed."
"I know."
"Then why did you do it?"
He takes another drag, blows out smoke. "Because I couldn't watch him touch you for one more second."
The honesty steals my breath.
"You can't—you can't keep doing things like that."
"I know."
"People are going to figure out something’s wrong."
"I know that too, and I don’t care, because something is wrong, Aurora, something is very wrong." He crushes the cigarette under his shoe. "I think about you."
Oh.
"Axel—"
"Every night. Every morning. During meetings with your father. During meals where I have to watch Leo paw at you." His voice is rough. "I can't sleep because all I can think about is you in that hotel room. In my penthouse. The sounds you made. The way you felt."
My mouth goes dry.
"I fucking hate myself for arranging this marriage," he continues. "For selling you to my bastard son before I knew who you were. But I don't see a way out that doesn't cause chaos. That doesn't destroy my friendship with your father. That doesn't start a war."
