Page 97 of The Princess Trap
Cherry rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Put it down to my razor-sharp instincts, or something.”
Ruben shook his head. His face softened, and suddenly, the narrow space between the cockpit and the rest of the jet seemed even smaller than before. His hands settled at her waist, his eyes raking over her face as if he’d never seen her before. “Cherry,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, hypnotised. “Yes?”
He kissed her. Hard.
There was no delicacy, just desperation. And yet, it was still tender. Still loving. Still everything she needed.
By the time he let her go, they were both panting. He grinned at her, looking impossibly, painfully young. He said, “I love you so fucking much.” Then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again.
Cherry forgot herself for a moment. It was quite difficult to concentrate when his tongue was caressing hers, his lips achingly gentle. But eventually, she pulled herself away, her cheeks burning.
“Stop that,” she murmured. “Agathe’s looking!”
“I highly doubt she’s looking.”
“She’s in the room!”
“We’re not in a room, sweetheart.”
“Oh, bugger off. I love you too. Where are we going, by the way?”
A smile spread over his face, slow and sure and utterly gorgeous. “What did you just say?”
“Where are we going? Also, who’s flying the plane? Because, no offence, but—”
He slid a hand into her hair. “You said you loved me.”
“Well…” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Don’t make a big thing of it.”
“You, Cherry Neita, are the most baffling person I’ve ever met,” he laughed. But he pulled her in for yet another kiss, and this time, she didn’t stop him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Magz: Can you hear anything?
Cherry looked warily towards the living room door. Her father’s study was just down the hall. Certainly close enough to hear him cussing Ruben out. And yet…
Cherry: Nothing. Quiet as a mouse.
Magz: What’s Mum doing?
Petra Neita was sitting in the corner of the living room on her favourite sofa, crocheting.Whatshe was crocheting, Cherry had no idea, but the fact that she was doing it at all seemed… vaguely ominous.
Cherry: She’s crocheting
Magz: Since when does Mum crochet?
Cherry: Apparently Ms. Jeanne from next door has started a club. They all choose something to crochet and spend amonth putting it together. And then they go to Ms. Jeanne’s house and get wasted and try on each other’s shitty hats. Or something.
Magz: Okay, but is she talking to you?
Cherry: No. She’s crocheting.
Magz: I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
Cherry wasn’t either. She’d never brought a boy home. Her sister had never brought a girl home. They had no point of reference for this sort of thing.
