Page 49 of Gilded Princess

I’m not jealous of Lainey. Of either of them. I love them.

I just wonder where I fit into our triangle. Our bond feels stretched and misshapen lately. We’re closing the chapter on one part of our life, walking into the next journey, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be taking a different path than either of them.

Who am I without them?

I pull myself out of my thought-spiral and refocus on Dante’s question.

“I asked because when that guy took me, and I woke up alone, tied to a chair in the middle of a warehouse, I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

I toss another buttery kernel in my mouth as tears well in my eyes. I keep my gaze trained on the screen, determined not to make eye contact as I crack my chest open and bleed out in front of this stranger.

Maybe that’s what makes this easier. He doesn’t know me from a stranger on the street, so his opinion isn’t weighed down by his judgment of my past.

A self-deprecating laugh bleeds from my mouth. “And you wanna know the most ridiculous thing? It wasn’t much of anything. A highlight reel of summer vacations with a mother who was more interested in prowling for her next boyfriend than mothering and pretentious events and parties with classmates in fancy dresses who don’t give a shit about me. And then the fun memories with my cousin and sister.” A wistful sort of smile tips the edges of my mouth upward.

“And then I had a strange thought: How many people would mourn me if I was gone? Really mourn me?” I pause, my hand halfway to my mouth, a few kernels clenched between my fingers. “Not many. My cousin and sister would, but they’re fighters. They’d move on eventually. Friends? Nah. Girls like me are more inclined to have frenemies than actual friends. My father’s dead, my maternal grandparents, too. I haven’t seen my paternal grandparents in so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize them if I passed them on the street.”

He doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between us, heavy and accusing. An apology is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. I think I’m allowed to be melancholy and introspective on this, so soon after everything happened.

It’s hard, but I resist the desire to fill the silence. Instead, I focus on the screen to see Mikey and the rest of the goonies crawl through some tunnels. The sight eases some of the weight on my shoulders. There’s something about movies from your childhood that offer you sweet nostalgia.

When I was younger, I used to fantasize about going on some big adventure like this. I had a wild imagination that only grew with my father’s bedtime stories of faraway lands.

Without a word, Dante leans forward and sets his bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of us. I watch from my peripheral as he pushes off the plush midnight-black U-shaped couch and walks around it to leave the room.

Well, damn.

I guess he wasn’t in the mood for introspection and a mild existential crisis conversation. That’s alright. I’m good at being alone.

I’m sure he’s regretting his offer to have a movie marathon with me. In fact, he’s probably texting Matteo right now, requesting he send me away.

After Matteo dropped his indefinitely bomb earlier, I retreated to the room I woke up in, hoping for clarity. Instead, I had a less-than-great phone call with my sister and then fell asleep on the bed. I only woke up when Dante knocked on the door and asked if I wanted to watch a movie.

Before I can toss another kernel in my mouth, a pint of strawberry frozen yogurt is in front of my face. I don’t immediately grab it from him. Instead, I trace the tattooed fingers wrapped around the frosty carton with my gaze, turning my head to follow the ink up his arm. I have to tip my head back to see his face, so it rests against the back of the couch.

I feel a little foolish looking at him upside down like this, but I’m so thrown by this gesture, I don’t know what to do exactly.

After another moment of silence, I ask, “What’s this?”

“This conversation deserves ice cream, don’t you think?” He moves the carton in his hand from side to side, the motion catching my attention in my peripheral.

I lift my head and grab the pint from him, our fingers lingering longer than necessary. Or maybe that’s my imagination.

“This is froyo.” I meant it as a question, but it didn’t come out that way. I turn the carton to the side, surprise wrinkling my brow. “Strawberry Surprise, actually. This is my favorite.”

I look from the pint to him, watching him walk around the oversized couch with a pint of ice cream in his other hand. Chocolate chunk.

“Huh. Must’ve been fate, then, yeah?”

His lip twitches when he says fate, and I can’t tell if it’s sarcasm or an inside joke I’m not privy to or a trick of the light. The floor-length soft-vanilla-colored window treatments are closed, their blackout feature living up to their name.

I open the carton, get a spoonful, and enjoy the bright taste of strawberries on my tongue. I barely suppress a moan. “Ugh. I’d forgotten how good this really is.”

Dante chuckles, this deep, masculine sound that sends pricks of awareness across my neck. I feel my answering smile before I even realize it.

“So, you’re one of those.”

I take another bite before shifting to face him, bending one leg under the other and leaning back against the armrest. The movie is all but forgotten as I give him my attention. “One of what?”

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