Page 217 of Kneel Before Me

“There’s nothing wrong with being sad.”

“Boys don’t like sad girls.”

“I like everything about you.”

Daphne smiled, her cheeks flushing even more.

“Don’t you like anything about me?” Maximus insisted. He was being pathetic, but he didn’t care.

She smiled wider. “Yes.”

Maximus shifted closer. “Tell me.”

“I like your hands.”

Maximus looked down at his hands. They were the same hands he’d had his entire life—long, thin fingers. Pale skin. Nothing special. “Is that right?”

“Yes.” Daphne slid her fingers into his, interlacing them.

Maximus froze. Every time they’d touched before now, he had initiated it. Now Daphne was looking at him and touching him and saying that she liked his hands. It was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. He barely managed to say, “What do you like about them?”

To his delight, Daphne laughed again, throwing her head back so that her curls cascaded over her shoulders. It took every ounce of his self-control not to press his lips to her neck.

“They’re steady,” she said. “I like that.”

Maximus didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say. The only thing he could do was savor the way Daphne was holding on to him—as if he were something precious to her. If she liked that he was steady, he would be exactly that for her.

“And,” Daphne giggled. “They’re big.”

Now that was unexpected. Maximus had no control over the size of his hands, yet he was suddenly quite thankful for his genetics. He held his other hand up between them. “Shall we compare?”

In reply, she splayed her hand flat against his, their palms were pressed together. “See?” She beamed up at him. “Big.”

Maximus couldn’t help but laugh. It was true; his hands were far larger than hers. They were almost comically mismatched—her fingers came barely three-fourths of the way up his. Despite the size discrepancy, he loved the way they looked together. Her hand felt right when flush against his. Tentatively, he curled his fingers down over Daphne’s, demonstrating just how big his hands actually were. It was a surprise even to him. To Daphne, it was a delight.

“If I had known you liked my hands, I would have done more with them.”

Her mouth twitched. “Like what?”

Maximus threaded his fingers through hers, interlacing them so that their hands were clasped together. “What would you like me to do?”

Daphne giggled but didn’t answer. Instead, to his utter surprise, she turned around, leaned back, and laid her head in his lap. Her curls splayed out in a voluminous halo, pouring over his legs in a dark, shiny wave. She settled herself with a contented sigh, wiggling her shoulders until she was in a comfortable position. Her wineglass was near her head, and Maximus moved it, setting it on the armrest so it was out of the way. Daphne didn’t seem to notice. She didn’t seem to notice much of anything right now, and that was not a problem for Maximus. He was happy simply to experience this moment with her. He couldn’t believe Daphne was here. He couldn’t believe she was lingering. Every single second seemed to stretch into an eternity. His leg was going numb, but he didn’t care—all the money in the world couldn’t have motivated him to move it. She was nestled in the crook of his knee as if she was made to be there.

He stared at her, transfixed. How had he never noticed just how many freckles she had? They were everywhere—not just on her cheeks but scattered across her nose and her neck and even the tips of her ears. There was one on the Cupid’s bow of her lips. Maximus wanted to kiss it. But he knew that would break the moment. So he sat in contented silence until Daphne whispered, “What do you like about me?”

It was the last thing Maximus expected her to ask. Daphne didn’t need his approval nor had she ever sought it before. Yet there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice, and he knew without a doubt that the question was sincere.

“I like everything about you,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

Daphne shook her head. “That’s not a real answer.”

“Of course it’s a real answer. It’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not.”

Maximus considered this, realizing she was right. No one was perfect; to say otherwise was to lie to her face. Yet her imperfections were exactly what he liked about her.

“I like the way you make me feel,” he said.