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Lust. Romance. They will always be your ruin.
Anxiety flickers inside me, but it melts away beneath the memory of Dante’s lips on mine, of his palm curved over my breast.
No, I can’t regret our kiss, only that Mrs. Vance spoiled it with her intrusion. How much different would this cab ride be if our kiss had run its natural course without any interruption? Would we have left the play in a far less agitated state? Would we be kissing now? The thought sends heat between my thighs, but my fantasy is spoiled when I look over at Dante’s tense form, at the stiff angle of his neck as he stares out the window.
Indeed, I’d much rather feel that heated spark of passion than the uncomfortable energy that ripples between us now.
The cab rolls to a stop. We’ve reached my hotel. My pulse quickens as I wait for Dante to say something, to bid me goodnight, to do…anything but stare pointedly away from me.
Several seconds pass.
Nothing.
My stomach sinks.
I clear my throat to steady my voice. “Well…goodnight, then.”
He turns his gaze to me so abruptly, I wonder if he forgot I was even in the cab with him. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he angles his body toward me. “Amelie, wait.”
Relief loosens in my chest. I reach for him, wanting to close the distance between us.
“You won’t see me again.”
I freeze, my hand mere inches from him. Quickly, I pull it back and fold it in my lap. “What do you mean?”
His eyes are empty, expression wan. “Ever since I stepped foot in Faerwyvae, I’ve done nothing but make your life worse.”
I frown, studying the sorrow etched into the lines of his face, unsure whether I should laugh or cry. “You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“I promised I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says, a slight quaver to his voice. “I promised Albert wouldn’t hurt you either, yet we both have.”
“I don’t know why you’re reacting so badly.” I try to keep my tone light, casual, but I don’t believe my words enough to deliver them with conviction. “It was a kiss, and only Mrs. Vance saw. Even if she were to spread word about what we did, it’s not like society can demand more from us than we’re already going to give. The expected recourse after such a scandal is for the parties involved to marry. Which we’re already doing.”
He averts his gaze, jaw tight. “No, we aren’t.”
His words spear my heart. It isn’t that I’ve forgotten Dante isn’t my real fiancé. More that I’ve grown adept at not thinking about the fact that I’m supposed to marry a stranger instead of the man I’ve gotten to know. The thought sends my gut roiling. “No one knows you aren’t the real prince.”
“No, I’m not him. You’re marrying the man I serve. The man I swore to protect. The man who…who became my friend.” He runs a hand over his face, eyes unfocusing. “I kissed his fiancé. His future wife. If I’d only persuaded him to take his rightful place, none of this would have happened.”
“Well, this is a first. I’ve never had someone so heartily regret kissing me.” I meant to sound cajoling, but my bitterness is evident in every word.
He returns his gaze to mine. “I don’t regret it. Not at all.”
My heart flips. Again, I get the urge to reach for him. This time, I keep my hands fixed firmly in my lap. Despite his confession over not regretting our kiss, the way he says it is far from warm.
“That’s the problem,” he says. “I should regret it. I should never have let myself desire you. You were his from the start.”
“I’m nothis. I was neverhis, nor will I ever be. I am my own person, and he and I were never meant to be anything more than an allied front.”
“I know.” He releases a heavy sigh. “I know you say that, but look at us. Look at what happened.”
He slowly lifts a hand toward my face and brushes a thumb along my jaw. It’s an effort not to let my lashes flutter closed, not to lean into his touch.
“If it had been him and not me from the very beginning, then perhaps you and he would have been the ones to…”
It takes me a few moments to understand what he’s left unsaid. When realization dawns, I bristle. Fury crawls from my heart, my throat, infusing my tone. “Are you suggesting I would have fallen in love with Albert in your place?”
His thumb goes still on my cheek, hanging on the wordlove. A word we haven’t exchanged. A word that should be forbidden to us.
