Page 126 of The Wishing Game

"You know, things you do in your spare time," I explain.

His brows are still furrowed, confusion echoing in his features. I purse my lips as I realize he truly has no concept of ahobby.

"For example, I love reading books," I say.

"I read books too." He nods.

"Really? What type? What books are there in your world?"

"On military treaties, of course," he scoffs.

I stare at him, my mouth agape.

"That's not fun reading."

"You read for fun?" His eyes widen.

"That is the definition of a hobby. Something you do for fun. Have you never read fiction?"

"That is a frivolous pursuit," he immediately replies. "Only people with no prospects engage in it." A pause. He blinks a couple of times before he leans in, serious. "What is fiction?"

I school my features so I don't laugh.

"Stories. Adventure. Romance. That type of thing."

"And you enjoy this fiction?" he probes, his eyes sparkling with interest.

"Iloveit. My favorite genre is romance. I used to devour one book a day." I sigh wistfully. "Nikki had been a fan as well, and we'd sometimes buddy read books after which he'd surprise me with the recreation ofsomescenes."

"Tell me more about this... romance. What is it exactly?"

"It's a story about two people falling in love and overcoming obstacles before they live happily ever after," I explain excitedly. "Usually, it's a handsome billionaire hero who falls for a sweet and innocent heroine. It's a bit of a cliché, I know." I chuckle. "But clichés are my comfort reads."

He nods slowly, seemingly deep in thought.

"Why billionaire?" He frowns.

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's the female desire to be protected and taken care of, and romance novels feed into that fantasy by having a rich, strong, and handsome man as the hero."

"And you say all women want that?"

"Not all, but a great deal do."

He nods again to himself.

"Why doyoulike that?" he suddenly asks.

My cheeks heat up at being put on the spot.

"I-I guess it's because I like the idea of being saved?" I murmur, averting my gaze. "It feels odd to think about itthatway when I had been saved—Nikki had saved me. Yet I think that a part of me was forever lost at the hacienda—the same part that never got over what happened to me. But how could I say that aloud? Because admitting that would be akin to admitting that Nikki hadn't been enough for me, when he had—hell, he'd beenmorethan enough. The failing is solely mine for being unable to move on and forget."

"Let me tell you about this book." I change the topic. Instead of talking about me, it's easier to talk about one of my favorite books. And so I recount a story in which the heroine is a poor seamstress and the hero is a handsome duke. Due to the difference in their stations, their relationship is forbidden, and the duke wants to make the heroine his mistress. The heroine, however, could never live with herself if she had to stay on the sidelines and watch her beloved marry someone of an appropriate station, so she decides to run away, but not before seeing the duke one last time.

Ze listens attentively, which makes me surprisingly happy. It's such a pity that he doesn't believe people should read for fun, but I aim to remedy that. Stories give us life. It's unfair that he's never experienced this before.

His eyes are on me, vivid emotions playing on his face as I reach a poignant scene in the story where the heroine gives the hero one last kiss before she's about to leave him.

"And?" he asks impatiently when I pause. "What happened?" He leans forward, his lips parted almost as if he held his breath for what's to come.

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