Page 27 of Falling Princess
I squeezed his bicep. “Thank you for bringing me tonight. I needed this.”
He was already squinting into the eyepiece. “Any time, Princess.”
* * *
If I thought swim team practice had been unbearable before, the next morning was pure torture. My head ached. My tongue felt like a dry towel. The lights and noise assaulted my senses. Midway through, I stumbled into the women’s locker room to vomit.
“Serves you right,” Raina said, passing by me to change. “Getting drunk on a random Tuesday. What got into you, Zosia?”
Fuck you. You’re supposed to bemyfriend.She’s clearly sided with Lorcan. Fine. She can have him.
It stings. Raina’s been my closest friend since we were children. But I couldn’t summon much ire. I was too relieved by the press of cold tile against my forehead and the knowledge that there is one place where Lorcan won’t follow me. If only the locker room had a window to the outside so I could escape properly instead of cowering beside the toilet.
Tears scalded the backs of my eyelids. My mother would be so ashamed of me right now. I’m beyond caring what my father would think, but my mother would definitely not approve.
Fortunately for both of us, she’s dead, and isn’t here to witness her pathetic daughter, failing yet again.
* * *
I pulled myself together for Thursday. I got up without being yelled at, made my own tea, and put an apple and a hard-boiled egg in my pockets so I wasn’t famished by the time we got to class. I ate my breakfast and studied without ogling the swimmers once. Lorcan is hardly the only eye-catching specimen; he just so happens to have the most scars. Hard not to be curious where he got all those crisscrossing pale lines. No one else has them.
I was beyond pleased to have thought of an excuse for my earlier inability to stop ogling him.
After class, I left my notes on the table in the shared living area for Lorcan to copy. I even apologized to him, sort of.
“I didn’t intend to get you in trouble last week.”
He glanced at me, at the notebook on the table, then back at me. “I didn’t get in any trouble.”
This did nothing to reinforce my determination to make things right, or at least marginally less uncomfortable, between us. “I needed a book. That’s all. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Is that why you were in the 740s?”
I cocked my head in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“The 740 section. Drawing and decorative arts.”
Still baffled, I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“The book you were holding was about decorative arts. Specifically, needlepoint.”
A tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over me. Is that aglint of mischiefin his eye?
I will kill him. I will murder him dead. I will give Lorcan of Tenáho the biggest scar he’s ever earned if he breathes one teasing word.
“Didn’t you know? I’m an accomplished seamstress.” I stared him down, daring him to call me on this complete falsehood. “All princesses are trained in the art of needlework. It’s practically genetic.”
“Of course, it is; I never doubted you,” he deadpanned. “I only question your stated reason for leaving without me, as your reading material had nothing to do with the subject of our shared class.”
I couldn’t decide whether to slap him or laugh maniacally.
In the end, I did neither. Because I am a princess. I am perfect on the outside, or try to be, even when inside, I’m a mess.
But more because of what Lorcan says next.
“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Princess.”
I wilted. I should be stronger than this, but I’m not. “You aren’t. We’re both beholden to my father.”
