“You got under my skin. I was wondering whether I’d ever see you again. I tried to find you.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I tried to analyze the attendance report and work out who you were from the time you had your ticket scanned, but too many guests arrived in the fifteen-minute time bracket. I asked all the staff at the ball if they’d seen you. Lots had… but nobody knew who you were. You’re not on social media like Brielle, and you’d disguised your coloring. And you just vanished. After a few days, I realized I wouldn’t find you, and that’s why I said yes to Wren. But by then, Marcus has proposed, and even if you ignore the fact that I think she was already attracted to him, an offer of marriage gave her baby safety and security. I can’t blame her for accepting.”
Maddie’s mouth is still open, and she’s blinking rapidly. “You… you tried to find me?”
“That surprises you?”
“Of course it does! I thought you’d walk away and never think of me again!”
“You’re more memorable than that, Cupcake,” I say softly. “Even with your disguise.”
She glances at me and our gazes lock for so long, I’m afraid she’s going to crash the car. Eventually, she tears her eyes away and looks back at the road. Color lingers in her cheeks, though, which are an attractive pink.
“Why did you tell me that?” she whispers. “I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I never said that. I’ve thought about my mysterious girl practically twenty-four-seven since the ball.”
“I’m mysterious? Dude, you’re the mysterious one.”
“Why? I’m an open book.”
“Yes, but you’re completely inscrutable. I can never tell what you’re thinking. And you’ve been so antagonistic, so angry with me… I thought you hated me.”
“I don’t hate you at all. I like you a lot. Like I said, you’re hot, sexy, smart, and funny. I just don’t trust you, that’s all.”
She doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.
“I’ve shocked you,” I comment, a little amused.
“Well, duh.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t normally speak my mind so openly. But I don’t like you thinking I hate you, because I certainly don’t.”
“You just don’t trust me.”
“No.”
“Is there any way I can convince you that I didn’t try to seduce you?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“How about the fact that when I tripped up the steps, you approached me?”
“That’s true… but maybe you feigned it when you saw me.”
“Caesar, you’ve seen me in action. I’m not a ballerina. I have two left feet. I’m constantly banging into things and falling over.”
It’s true, and for the first time, doubt flickers inside me.
“Anyway,” she continues, “do you really think I’m skilled in the art of seduction?”
“I think you’re incredibly intelligent, and your cutesy bunny thing could be an act.”
“My what?”
“The way you turned your womanly wiles on me.”
