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“There’s another dinner next week,” she says finally. “Some silent auction and awards dinner. Come with me to that?”
I stare at her for a long moment, surprised. I’d thought that maybe my little speech would have put her off, but she seems determined to ignore it, to just push past it and carry on—which honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen my mother do it, Cayde’s mother, all of the women who marry into and are a part of the class of society that we are. She’ll pretend that I never said any of that, tell herself that I was just in a bad mood, maybe, and convince herself that I can change.
That I’ll fall in love with her eventually, even though there’s no possibility of that.
What if I’m already in love?
With—Athena?
It’s too ridiculous to even really consider. Athena isn’t someone I could ever be in love with—whatever that means. I’ve never even been in love.
So why am I itching for Winter to shut up and get out of the car so that I can get home?
I’m just horny,I tell myself, except I’m not. I don’t have the slightest hint of arousal.
I just want to see Athena.
“Fine,” I tell Winter quickly. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” She flashes me a brilliant smile, reaches for the door—and then stops. An odd almost hurt expression flickers across her face.
“What?” I look at her confusedly.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Her eyes look watery, and it takes everything in me not to let out a sigh of frustration.
I’d assumed she’d want our first kiss to be something more romantic, maybe even theatrical, but from the wounded expression on her face, it’s clear that she’d expected it to be this—here, now, that I wouldn’t let her out of the car without wanting a kiss from her.
It’s also clear that she definitely didn’t internalize a word I said outside.
I have the urge to just give her a quick peck on the lips and send her off, but a small part of me—the part that isn’t completely jaded and cruel, I suppose—knows that I shouldn’t hurt the woman I’m supposed to marry twice in one night.
So instead, I reach out, skimming my palm along her jaw and into her updo, working a bit of her hair loose as I feel her lean into my caress. I pull her towards me, her full pale lips close to mine as she breathes out, and I can feel the desire coming off of her in waves. I can feel how much she wants me, and once again, I feel a small wave of guilt that I don’t have the same desire.
Her lips are soft and warm, and I feel the tiniest twinge of desire, a stirring as Winter moans softly, leaning into the kiss, her mouth parting as she breaths in, gasping as she starts to move towards me, her hand sliding towards my leg.
I pull back suddenly, any hint of desire fading away. “I need to get back,” I say bluntly, and Winter jerks away as if I’ve slapped her.
“Back to her?”
“Back home.”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
We look at each other over the center of the car, and I grit my teeth as I see her lip quivering again.
“Are you going to go home and fuck her?”
Yes. Probably. Almost certainly.I want to say all of those things to her, to snap at her and drive it home to her just how little I really want anything to do with her or our intended marriage years from now, that I just want her to be exactly what I expected of her, a pretty little trophy to parade around and show off when necessary and keep stashed away the rest of the time.
“I’m going to go home and go to bed,” I say tiredly. “It’s been a long night, Winter. And I have other things going on tomorrow.”
Winter looks as if she wants to argue or say something back, and part of me almost wishes she would. I might like her better, want her more, if she showed some backbone. But instead, she just opens the door and slips out, shoving it closed hard as she gathers up her skirt and hurries down the sidewalk towards her dorm.
I have a strange urge to hurry home, and I give in to it, hitting the gas on the Maserati. I’m back at the manor house in less than ten minutes and out of the car, slipping out of my jacket as I walk inside the house and towards the stairs.
No one is around as I stride towards my room, and I’m glad because, at this particular moment, all I want is to see Athena. She better be in my bed, where I told her to be, I think to myself. As I push my door open, a wave of satisfaction washes over me as I see her in her pajama shorts and tank, curled on her side in my bed.
She looks small and daintier than usual like this, asleep with her face soft and quiet, in my huge California king. Part of me almost wants to leave her like that, and I have an urge that I’ve never had before to crawl into bed next to her, curl around her and hold her in my arms while I fall asleep like that. I’ve never shared a bed with anyone—never wanted to, honestly. I like my space, the clear definition between who I am and who she is—and she is not someone who spends the night in the arms of someone like me.
