Page 69 of The Princess Trap
Cherry stared up at his ceiling. He didn’t have a grand, four-poster bed like she did. His room looked almost normal. She put her hand against his chest, felt his heart beating, and said, “Okay. Do you think Agathe will look after Whiskey?”
“Of course.” Ruben smiled slightly. “Although that creature doesn’t need much looking after. I barely see her.”
“She is the queen of stealth.”
“Right.” He chuckled, but then his humour faded. “I’m supposed to be getting ready for work,” he said.
“Seriously? You’re going out today?”
“I’ll have to rearrange a shit-ton of meetings while I waste time pandering to my brother’s whims, so yes. I’m going out. I might be late back.” He pulled away from her, gently enough, but it hurt just the same. “Demi can help you pack. She mentioned the two of you ordered some clothes?” He got up, leaving her behind on the bed, wandering over to his wardrobe.
“Yeah,” Cherry said, sitting up. “For court. Or whatever. Most of it’s already here, so…”
“Great.” He pulled out a steel-grey suit, looked at it for a moment, then shrugged and threw it on the bed. “I’m sorry about this, Cherry. I really am.”
She shrugged. Tried to smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“I do,” he said darkly. Then he sighed and forced a smile of his own. It was strained, too bright, too wide. He reached for her, and she came, because maybe that would help him shake off the worry he wore like chains.
He pulled her into his chest and buried his face in her hair, his arms iron bands around her body. For a few long minutes, she wondered if he’d ever let go. And if she even wanted him to.
But then, with a sigh, he released her. Kissed her forehead. And said, “Can I come and see you tonight? When I get back?”
If she’d had to describe the way that question made her feel, Cherry would have failed. There were too many emotions, hitting her too fast, merging into one another to create a maelstrom of pure feeling, the kind she’d never experience before.
The only thing she was sure of was her answer.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he whispered. “Good.” He kissed her. His hands cradled her face, his lips gentle and searching. He touched her with every inch of his formidable focus, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Then he pulled away and said, “Leave the lights on. Okay?”
She licked her lips, tasted the ghost of his desire. And she said, “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cherry was wearing her pyjamas—or rather, an old Dolly Parton tee and some underwear, which passed as pyjamas for her. As much effort as she put in during the day, she didn’t want to look good just to go to sleep.
And yet, she was wearing a full face of makeup.
She sat in the centre of the bed, the main lights off but the bedside lamp on. That counted, right? She was pretty sure that counted. A lamp was a light.
This was ridiculous. As if she’d never had sex with the lights on before.
Never like this. Never with someone like him.
Cherry knew that she was insecure. Frankly, she didn’t think it mattered. She liked herself, and she knew exactly who she was, and she knew exactly how she looked. So if she preferred to face the world with a solid inch of foundation asher shield, who gave a fuck? It wasn’t that she cared about her scars, exactly. Or even that she cared what other people thought of them. Christ, she’d had acne long enough as a teen to get over that.
But what she did care about was control. Controlling perceptions of herself. And she couldn’t control what people thought, how they looked at her, unless she was flawless. Because once she was flawless, what could anyone think except…Wow. That’s Cherry fucking Neita.
She had no middle name. Butfuckingdid well enough.
The only problem was, Cherry didn’t go to sleep in makeup. She didn’t sit in her room and go about her business in makeup. And if Ruben came home to find her sitting in bed with a smoky eye and red lip, he’d probably think that meant something. Like… that she didn’t trust him. Or some shit like that. People had thoughts. Those thoughts didn’t always make sense.
But maybe shedidn’ttrust him. Cherry really wasn’t sure.
So she did the only thing she could do—or rather, the only thing she felt like doing. She picked up the phone and called Rose.
It rang three times. Just long enough for her to think,What the hell are you doing? You’re the worst kind of friend. You practically disappear, and then you call her when you need her—
