Page 33 of Broken Prince

“So he likes to read?”

“Jude? Yes, he loves it. It’s more than that, to be honest. He is obsessed with words, always has been.”

“Why’s that?”

I shrugged. “Not sure, but it started so young. Believe it or not but he knew how to read before he was four.” I let out a chuckle. “As you know my parents were not that keen on parenting and I was not available enough to read stories, so, you know, he did it himself. His psychologist calls it hyperlexia. It sometimes happens to children on the spectrum.”

Luca nodded and I was glad he didn’t ask more about Jude being on the spectrum.

“Our parents considered him flawed; I consider him a gift.”

Luca looked up at me, his eyebrows arched in surprise. “You’re wise beyond your years,” he said thoughtfully.

I let out a startled laugh. “I’m not that young.”

“But much too young,” he replied, reaching awkwardly for another tulip bulb.

I didn’t reply to his comment because I was quite certain he’d been talking to himself more than he’d been talking to me.

“What are you doing with your days? I never see you around.”

He glanced at me silently before concentrating on his task again.

“Come on, you’re asking me all of these questions. It seems only fair I get to ask you some too.”

He shook his head, still not looking up. “You know if you don’t want to answer my questions, you can just say it. Nobody’s forcing you.”

I couldn’t help but be a little deflated at his dismissal. I hadn’t meant it as a jab but merely as a joke.

I sighed, going back at my tulip bulbs.

“Drink and wallow in self-pity,” he said after a while.

“Sorry?” I was not sure what he was saying.

He sighed. “You asked what I was doing all day. Drink and wallow in self-pity.”

“Oh.” I’d suspected that much. I just didn’t expect him to admit it to me.

“You’re surprised?” he asked, looking up.

“I’m surprised you told me the truth.”

“I won’t lie to you, Cassandra,” he said with such certainty that it made me shiver, his deep voice resonating deep in my bones. “I’d rather not answer at all than lie.”

I smiled at him brightly. “I like that. I’m the same. Lies are too difficult to keep up with, too much to remember. By telling the truth, I never fear of being inconsistent. Nothing is more immutable than the truth.”

He looked at me in a way that made me uncomfortable as if he wasn’t sure I was real. “Yes, I couldn’t have said it any better.”

He twisted again to reach for a bulb.

“Are you in pain?” I almost made it to nursing school graduation; maybe I could help him.

“What?”

I pointed to the case with the bulbs. “You’re getting the bulbs funny, are you sore?”

“Ah, no. It’s—” He scratched at his bearded jaw with his gloved hand, leaving a little soil in his beard. “I’m giving you my good profile. I shouldn't subject you to the abject vision of my mangled face.”

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