Page 10 of Gilded Princess

“I don’t even have my hands where you really want them. Not yet.”

His words have the desired effect on me and a flash of lust rolls through my traitorous body.

His hand leaves my hair, and he trails a single fingertip down my arm, linking it with my pinky finger for two seconds. “I’ll be seeing you, Cherry.”

The move is so reminiscent of how he was when we first met—from the nickname to the familiar pinky-holding that my heart squeezes painfully.

Matteo hooks a finger around my pinky as we walk down the path in Central Park. It’s an unexpected move but not unwelcome. We haven’t been dating long, and I like his version of holding hands.

I twist my lips to the side to stifle the ridiculous grin that’s trying to break free.

Mom came to the city to take my sister and me out to lunch with her newest boyfriend a few days ago. She told me through her pained, perfect smile that my smile isn’t as straight as Mary’s. I never thought about it much before, but now that she’s planted the seed of doubt, I can’t shake it. She made an appointment for the orthodontist for me next week, so at least I’ll get it taken care of soon.

“It’s a nice day for a walk, yeah?” He looks at me with a grin, his posture relaxed and confident. In an all-black suit minus the jacket, he looks like a young celebrity strolling through the park on a Wednesday afternoon. Black Ray-Bans shield his eyes, and his hair is tousled in that effortlessly messy way that shouldn’t be as good-looking as it is.

I quirk a brow, desperately trying to calm the few butterflies that slowly circle my insides. I like Matteo, like really like him. We’ve been seeing each other for just shy of six months now. But we don’t get to see each other too often, since we’re at different schools. Plus, he’s a couple years older than me.

And somehow, I’ve managed to keep him a secret from my mom. Once she meets someone, she either gets her claws in them, or they leave. Either way, it’s game over.

And I think I want to keep him.

“Aren’t you going to get warm in that?” I ask. It’s September, but in New York City, it’s still hot this time of year. We lucked out with a cool seventy-degrees today.

He pinches the fabric of his shirt between two fingers and lifts it out a few times with a smile. “What? This? Nah, I’m perfect. I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

I playfully roll my eyes and nudge his arm with my shoulder. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Matteo.”

He tugs me closer with his grip on my pinky finger. “Good, because I’m going wherever you are, Cherry.”

I slam my lids shut and count to ten in French. It’s about all I can remember from French class. Madame Fontaine was hard to follow, and well, school has never been my strong suit.

It does the trick though, and when I open my eyes and spin around, the space behind me is empty.

I knew it would be though. Matteo never stays in one place too long. I exhale a shaky breath, my loose strands of hair billowing out in front of my face. My heart beats frantically, fluttering against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. I press a hand to my chest and close my eyes again, willing my heart to calm down.

“Hey, you okay?”

I snap my eyes open, surprised to see Blaire’s honey-eyed gaze in front of mine. Her head tilts to the side and a crease she’d be horrified to know is there mars her brows.

I paste a smile on my face, and I’m thankful when she doesn’t call me on it. We’re both skilled enough to spot a fake smile a mile away—it’s practically the language of the entitled.

I open my mouth to respond with some stretched truth, but the lights dim and the ten-piece string band stops playing and exits the stage. Someone whoops, drawing my attention to the corner where the guest DJ is setting up, saving me from answering Blaire.

“Who’s that?” I tip my chin toward the corner.

She stares at me for a moment longer before slowly shifting so she’s standing next to me and looking in the same direction. “Goes by Zebra.”

I quirk a brow, but I don’t reply as I watch him set up, grateful for the few moments to get myself under control. To remind myself that I’m not that same girl with hearts in her eyes.

I watch the tables empty as the older generations retreat to the edges of the room and small patios outside the French doors. They sit at the small tables inside shallow alcoves. No doubt the next round of marriage contracts and familiar mergers are being signed tonight. I can only imagine how many other deals will be agreed upon over handshakes and too many cocktails.

“I know, I wasn’t sure about him either, but apparently he’s the hottest thing in the underground in London right now.”

I nod a few times. “Good. I’m ready to dance.”

“Me too, girl. Me too.”

The familiar sounds of The Chainsmokers and Daya pump through the speakers and Blaire hooks her elbow in mine with a sly smile, and we head for the dance floor.

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