Page 21 of Gilded Princess

Sometimes I wonder if I even know the real me. I spend so much of my time being who everyone else wants or needs me to be, it’s easy to get lost.

And those guys? They never even tried to get to know me—any iteration. My mom was right about one thing: some men are fragile creatures and always need their egos stroked. She always told me I was too high maintenance for most guys—but definitely that type of guy.

As if I’d want a man who smells like he bathes in cologne, gets trashed at every school event, and delivers the least imaginative pickup lines.

No, I want a man who commands a room with just his presence, who inspires lust with a single touch, who conjures a little fear from an intense look. Okay, so maybe that last one is a little inspired by my novel choice, but can you blame me?

Mostly, I just want someone who sees past the layers of chiffon and lace to me.

My sister tells me I read too much romance and I need to be realistic about my expectations of men. Often.

And maybe I do have a specific bar set in mind, but is it so wrong to have expectations?

My lips twist to the side as two very different pairs of eyes come to mind when I think of my expectations.

A month ago, I might’ve scoffed at the idea of dating two men. But then Lainey casually dropped the little fact that she’s interested in three men—at the same time. I still have to get all the dirty details out of her, but I find myself wondering if I’ll get a collection of boyfriends of my very own.

I let my mind wander as I walk down the street, skirting groups of kids giggling behind their phones and businesspeople power walking with a coffee in one hand and their phones glued to their ears.

What are the odds that the night I run into Matteo for the first time in years is the same night I finally find someone I’m interested in.

Maybe. I’m maybe interested in him.

I don’t know anything about Aries besides our mutual attraction. I’m sure a lot of people can claim the same thing, but that doesn’t make them a good couple.

Jesus. I roll my eyes at myself as I cross the street. Couple? Get a grip, Maddie. You don’t even know his name.

Almost without conscious effort, my mind replays my interactions with him. Again.

A wave of warmth rolls over me every time I think about my mystery man in the dark bathroom of The Grasshopper.

I know with certainty that I would’ve let him fuck me in there. Bent over the small velvet couch or straddling him on the antique chaise, or even against the gaudy wallpapered wall.

I would’ve done all those things and more had we not been interrupted.

The only thing more surprising than that is that I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t feel any shame or guilt about wanting to let some guy whose face I wouldn’t recognize ravish me at a luncheon party. I have to think that he would’ve found a way to contact me by now if he was interested in more. It’s been nearly a week, and he obviously knows some of the same people as I do.

Unless he can’t.

Maybe he’s traveling or hurt or tied up in a—

I roll my eyes at my own thoughts—forever dramatic and a hopeless romantic, I guess.

I can’t let go of the idea of something so . . . explosive with someone. I don’t want to let go of that. If anything, I want more—so much more.

The last time I felt anything close to the way I did with Aries was when I was with my ex-boyfriend. And we were just kids then. I can only imagine how it’d be if we were together now—even if only for a night.

And oh my god! What am I even thinking about right now—sleeping with my ex-boyfriend and my—I don’t even know what to call him!?

I blow out a breath and run my hand over my face to center myself.

Okay.

I’m okay.

I mean, I’m thinking about having sex with two different men at the same time—well, not the same time same time, but like during—

Okay. Now I’m definitely picturing that particular fantasy of both of them at the same time. I feel my eyes glass over as I walk down the street. Thankfully, passersby are oblivious to the debauchery playing out in my mind.

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