AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I don’t want her.
It might have been the absolute truth in that moment, but the reality was always more complex. And, no matter the reason, no woman, noone, ever wanted to hear those words. Justifiable guilt swirled in a conscience he would have professed not to have.
But, Lykos realised, instead of falling into tears or retreating, the girl beside him had taken his clothes, stolen his wallet, destroyed his means of transport and got herself on a train to Milan. He was almost impressed.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her head was turned towards the window, the waterfall of golden hair tucked behind her ear, revealing the pod and the gentle hum of music he couldn’t quite make out. The curve of her cheek was plumper than those high cheekbones of the brunettes he usually acquainted himself with. It spoke of a softness that belied the fire within her and he appreciated the duality, the drive, even if it came at his expense. An expense that he couldn’t afford. Kozlov needed to pay and Aleksander had the shares to help make it happen.
Lykos felt her shiver, as if Marit had somehow picked up on the sudden drop in temperature from his thoughts alone. He frowned, realising the closeness of the seats. ‘Why did you not buy a first-class ticket?’
Catching her gaze in the reflection on the glass, he marshalled the jolt that continued to shock his body, until she broke the connection.
‘I wanted to save the money,’ she said with a shrug.
‘What would a princess know about saving money?’ Lykos scoffed, remembering in a heartbeat every single time he’d scrabbled in the street for pennies or, in desperation, used the ‘skills’ his father had taught him almost as soon as he could walk.
‘Quite a lot, if she’s never had free access to it herself.’ She turned to look at him, her pupils flaring unconsciously as she registered how close they were; her body’s response starting a chain reaction in his own, shorting out his ability to reply to her statement. ‘What?’ she asked of his silence. ‘You think it’s easy for a princess to go and get a summer job?’ she demanded, clearly—and thankfully—misunderstanding the reason behind his lack of response. ‘You ever wondered why royals don’t have handbags? Because their wallets and keys are kept by security personnel. Why aren’t I travelling first-class? Because the only money I have is the money I took from your wallet. I was saving the rest for...’
Like a bloodhound, he followed the trail of unspoken words. ‘For what, Princess?’
‘My name,’ she growled, ‘is Marit. And clothes, of course. What else would I spend your money on?’
He stared at her, trying to see though the lie she’d told him, but he recognised the stubborn glint gleaming back at him. What he didn’t recognise was the sense of kinship that suddenly bloomed in that moment. Because he realised she was protecting herself. And that Lykos both respected and understood. Neither of which would matter, of course, if it stopped him from getting what he was owed from Aleksander.
He turned away from her steady gaze, giving a point to the Princess, just as he heard her stomach growl and he allowed a smirk to pull at his lips, covering the strange sensation from seconds earlier.
‘You see,’ he drawled, ‘if we were in first-class lunch would have been served by—’
She shot out a hand and slapped him on the arm.
‘That’s assault,’ he warned mockingly, his head dipping slightly, only to be hit by a gentle hint of salt and the sweet scent of pears.
‘It’s self-defence. I’m being kidnapped,’ she replied, and the breathless way the words escaped her lips hitched his pulse, causing an alarm to scream in his head.
‘Actually, you ran away, so it’s probably more akin to retrieval,’ he couldn’t help but reply.
‘Retrieval?’
‘And theft. You stole my wallet, my clothes, and I haven’t even started on the car.’
‘Did you find the keys?’ she asked suddenly, the urgency and concern across her features startling. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why she would care, when it hit him that, why aside, she did actually care.
‘Yes, all fine,’ he replied, fascinated by the concern leaving her features.
‘It would have served you right if they hadn’t been,’ she chided.
‘Yes, it would have,’ he agreed, wondering why on earth he’d just spared her feelings. ‘I’m going to hunt down some breakfast,’ he said, easing himself out of his seat and into the aisle. ‘Princess—’
‘Marit.’
‘Marit.Don’t. Go. Anywhere.’
Her name, spoken in his thick, luscious accent, had struck her so still he needn’t have warned her not to leave. Her body remained motionless long after he’d left the carriage until, unable not to, her lungs exploded into action with a huge inhale. She still felt pinpricks across her skin from how close he’d been, the way her heart had lurched as he’d teased her, the way each and every breath took in that rich, savoury scent of his aftershave, and the way she’d had to fist her hands to stop herself reaching for him.
Breathy. She’d sounded breathy, even to her own ears.
I don’t want her.
Shame curled her stomach. Was she doomed to repeat this cycle over and over and over again, wanting people who didn’t want her? The memory of nine-year-old Freya’s face, when at the age of five Marit had asked if there was something wrong with her that she wasn’t allowed to go to lessons with Mummy and Daddy rose in her mind anew.
