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To give him what he needs, too.
Groaning, he dips his head toward me, lips skimming the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes, bracing myself for his kiss, his touch, his anything.
“Except my conscience.”
He abruptly pulls back, rejection stinging my skin as I snap my stare to his.
“But your conscience will allow some guy I have no history with to sleep with me after my grandmother and Silas Archer all but whore me out to him.”
He winces, my words like knives against his flesh. “Don’t put it that way. Please.”
“It’s the truth. You weren’t in that meeting.” I point in the general direction of the palace. “I have no doubt there’s money changing hands here. Not to mention, you should have seen the dossiers the PR team put together that we’re to study and memorize in order to sell our relationship to the public.”
“Jameson Gates is a good man.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that!” I throw my hands up in frustration, my irate tone unsettling a few of the horses.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. When I open them again, I lean toward Creed, keeping my voice as even as possible.
“When I look at him, all I see is a man who was chosen for me. Don’t you see how messed up this is? That I don’t get to choose who I marry? I understand that things are different for us. But at least give me a goddamn option, instead of ordering me around like I’m nothing but a puppet. Nearly every decision has always been made for me. I don’t get to decide what to wear. What to drink. And now, who I’m to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t want them to control this, too. I want this choice to be mine.”
“Esme…” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he brings his gaze back to mine. “I… I can’t.”
I suck in a quivering breath, swallowing the tears wanting to fall. I refuse to cry. Not over this.
I didn’t cry when I was told I had to leave the only home I knew to live in this damn prison.
I didn’t cry when I learned my mother was sick and may soon lose the control of her limbs.
I didn’t cry when I walked into her bedroom to discover her unconscious body.
This life has dealt me harsh blow after harsh blow, and I’ve taken them all in stride.
I’m not going to let it break me over this.
“I’m sorry,” he offers.
“Don’t, Creed,” I bark out. “I don’t need your pity. Don’t need your apologies. I don’t… I don’t need you. If you’re not interested, I’ll find someone else.”
“Esme,” he sighs, stepping toward me.
Something in the way he peers at me makes me think he’s about to reveal some earth-shattering truth.
That he’s about to wrap me into his arms, forbid me from asking someone else, then press his lips against mine, treating me to a spine-tingling kiss.
But before he can utter another syllable, footsteps crunching on hay filters through, and he jumps as far away from me as possible.
I whirl around, momentarily disoriented, before I focus my eyes on the doorway.
Standing with the sunlight streaming behind him is none other than Jameson Gates himself.
Chapter Seven
Esme
“Your Highness.” Jameson bows in my direction.
“Mr. Gates,” I greet formally.
