Page 75 of The Billionaire's Princess

She nods. Leans against my side, getting more comfortable. The server brings my drink. The pianist plays one of those melancholy tunes I’ve heard a million times but can’t quite identify. We sip.

And when she sighs and rests her head against mine, I decide that my time has come. This conversation isn’t going to get any easier.

“I think you’re smart, Carly,” I murmur. “Funny. Fascinating. Beautiful. Sexy. There’s no one else like you. Never has been. Never could be.”

A quick smile and wayward tear from her, which she quickly wipes away. She nods but says nothing.

“Since you’re so fucking amazing, I can’t believe I just happened to meet you. Or that you’d give me the time of day. Or that you’re not already married to some old-money duke from back home. Or that you won’t still decide that that’s the kind of person you belong with.”

She twists to face me. “Damon—”

“Shh.” I squeeze her waist to make sure she understands how important this is. “I need you to listen. And it’s hard enough to say this without you hitting me with those big baby blues.”

The baby blues in question radiate steady warmth. Endless understanding. And I can’t think with her looking at me like that.

Some of this must appear on my face, because she shows mercy on me and slowly faces the pianist again, waiting.

“I swing between thinking you want me for me and thinking you only want me for my money so you can rescue your precious father if he needs it or yourself if your art doesn’t take off.” I don’t bother to hold back a self-deprecating laugh. “And not giving a damn if it is the money keeping you around. As long as you don’t leave.” I swallow hard, trying to get rid of the knot in my throat. “Like my mother left.”

It feels like there should be more, but I can’t think of it if there is.

“That it?” she asks crisply.

“That’s it.”

“Ask me how many fucks I give about your money,” she says. “Go on. Ask me.”

I open my mouth, but my voice struggles to keep up. Especially now that I’m beginning to feel sheepish.

“How many fucks do you give?” I ask quietly.

She twists again. Stares me in the face. “Zero.”

Swear to God, I could drop to my knees and kiss her feet. That’s how relieved I am by her ferocity.

“You sure about that, princess?”

“Zero.”

Shaky laugh from me. Profound gratitude as I unwind my arm from around her waist and take her left hand in both of mine.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I tell her, laying her hand flat on my thigh and tracing letters on her palm.

I.

L. O. V. E.

Y. O. U.

My sweet princess laughs. Fails to stop a couple of crystalline tears from trickling down her face.

“I love you too,” she whispers.

“I was hoping you’d say that again.”

I reach into my pocket and find the ring I put there earlier in an abundance of hope, place it in her palm and close her fingers around it.

She gasps and snatches her hand free so she can put the ring on the table and get a good look at it.

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