Page 18 of Make Me Bee-lieve

“I’m sorry,” I say, and try to pull my hand free. But she doesn’t let me go. Instead, she laces her fingers between mine as my heartbeat drills louder and louder in my ears. “I won’t do it again, I promise, Your Highness.”

She studies my face for a few moments, then releases my hand and turns back to the book. Whatever moment passed between us is now gone, just like the pixie dust that floated off the strands of her hair. I watch as she flips to another page, and I bite the inside of my cheek while I wait for her next reaction. She’s an unpredictable force of nature wrapped up in an attractive golden package, and my gut tells me that I should be wary.

Polina whirls around, slamming the book shut. Instinctively, I take a few steps back, but she pushes the book into my chest.

“Read this to me,” she says. It’s not a request, it’s a command. “Now.”

POLINA

“This is A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare,” he says, an unspoken question hovering in the air.

Calvin sits in the plush chair across from mine in the corner of the room as I wait for him to open to the first page. His dusky brown hair falls into his face, over the eye jewelry he wears, and I have an overwhelming urge to push it back behind his ear. But after the warning I just gave him about not touching people without their permission, even entertaining the idea would be hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

He brings a fist to his mouth and clears his throat, then licks one of his fingers and flips to the first page. Oh, to be one of those pages right now. Being caressed by one of his wet fingers and?—

Polina. Get a hold of yourself.

There’s a pause, and I smile. Then his eyes find mine, and he blinks slowly. He’s waiting for me to answer him and I’m over here fantasizing about his fingers.

I dig my fingers into the fabric of my dress and say, “Yes, it is. When you read it aloud to us the other night, I had my drones find a copy.”

He holds the book up and inspects it from front to back. “But it’s … tiny.”

“Yes, I’m aware. But we found a bookstore selling copies of it and I had my scholars create a replica,” I say. “It was easy. That is what we do here in the city. When we desire new things to read, we visit your shops and libraries and create copies of the knowledge contained within.”

His brows slam together. “If your magic can do that, can you turn me back to my normal size again?”

My heart sinks. Here I thought he’d find it intriguing, or even romantic, that I requested he read to me tonight. After all, we hadn’t finished it yet. We were only on Act 2, and I am eager to learn what happens next. But I should have known he’d ask that question. Because, at the end of the day, he only wants to go home so he can get back to his life. His human life.

I wonder if he has a wife waiting for him? Why does that thought make me feel so itchy? No, not itchy. I feel … I feel…

Jealous?

Is that the right word for it? Jealousy isn’t something I’ve ever had to deal with. Not as the princess. If I desire something, all I have to do is snap my fingers and it’s mine. Food, clothing, books, jewels? Whatever I request, my drones and foragers will provide it. But I can’t make someone give me their heart. Not even a princess can do that.

Shaking my head, I look down at my hands in my lap and murmur, “No, I’m sorry. That’s not something we can do, otherwise I would have done it for you already.”

“Really? That’s … surprising to hear,” he says. “Why?”

I look back up at him, and his lovely chestnut brown eyes make my stomach flutter. “Oh, because our magic is limited to creating glamours. We don’t use magic to create the tomes, actually. My scholars have a printing press down in the library,” I explain. Some of our magic could be used for other things, such as making our food taste slightly better. But other than that? No. Compared to other fae, we’re almost … mundane.

Calvin smirks. “I meant the other thing. About sending me home already if you could.”

I blink. “Because you asked to go home. Why should I deny you your request?”

“Your aunt seemed to think it was important I stay,” he says.

“Aunt Elza doesn’t have the final say, she’s merely my majordomo. Once I am queen, I plan on replacing her entirely.”

He winces at my words. “That seems … harsh,” he says as he rests his elbow on the armrest. “There’s clearly no love lost between you two, I see.”

I shrug. “No. No, there is not. Will you please read the next act to me, please? I can’t get a good night’s rest without being read a bedtime story. And talking about Aunt Elza will only make it harder for me to fall asleep.”

Calvin sighs and looks back down at the book in his lap. “Sure, sure. I can do that. Top of Act II then? I’m surprised you even like this. Not everyone has the patience for Shakespeare.”

I don’t say anything in response to that, because I don’t want to drum up more idle conversation. Instead, I fixate on the sound of his voice as he reads. After ten minutes of straight reading, I let out a small yawn and cover my mouth. Then my eyes start to wander. First, they start at the top of his head. I take in the way his hair is parted slightly to the side. It looks soft and touchable. Grabbable, too, but I force myself to move on from such thoughts. Then my eyes trail down to his square jawline, the darkening hair on his chin, and the bulge in his throat.

And then … then my eyes move down the slope of his slender neck and roam over his bare chest. His biceps flex every now and then, when he turns a page or when he leans forward as he tries to get more comfortable. He has nice arms. I like them, the way they curve. They’re lean but look strong.

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