Page 43 of The Princess Trap
Her breath caught, and her hand pulled away, and it took him a minute to realise what she thought he meant.
“No, not you!” He caught her hand, tugged it back to his cheek. As if he needed it. As if he needed her. “I’m not talking about you. I meant something else. Before.” He didn’t want to say Kathryn’s name. He was tired of hearing it, even from his own lips.
“Okay,” she said finally. The tension in her wrist eased, and she touched him again. He fought the instinct to rub against her like an animal. He’d embarrassed himself enough for one night.
They were silent for a while. So long, in fact, that he might have thought she’d fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the slow glide of her thumb over his cheek. Then, suddenly, she said, “I’ve been trying not to like you. But I’ve decided to stop.”
He hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” There was a smile in her voice. “I wanted to hate you for making everything so complicated, but honestly, I’m bored of it. Being angry all the time is exhausting. And you’re right; we need to get to know each other.”
“We do,” he said slowly, fighting to calm the rapid beating of his heart. “But it’s easier like this, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” she said simply. “Everything’s easier in the dark.”
Ruben rolled towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist. And for once—even when he felt the soft curves of her body beneath the blanket—his mind stayed out of the gutter. He pulled her close and whispered against her forehead, “I’ll come back. If you want. Tomorrow.”
He didn’t think he imagined the way she leaned into him. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He pressed a kiss to her brow. Then he let her go, and got up, and left.
It didn’t feel right, but he did it anyway.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Cherry spent an extra fifteen minutes on her makeup. Not for Ruben, she told herself hurriedly; men never appreciated winged liner. She was just in that sort of mood. She studied herself in the bathroom mirror, the spotlights in the ceiling casting rather unflattering shadows across her face. But at least the light was good: white-ish, rather than yellow or orange. And her liner was razor-sharp. She was most definitely ready.
She swept out of her en suite, pointedly ignoring her bed. The bed where, just last night, she’d actually talked to Ruben. Touched him. Comforted him.
Also, where she’d thought about fucking his brains out. But that, she reassured herself, was a natural urge when faced with a painfully attractive, domineering arsehole. Well, for her, anyway.
A weakness isn’t a weakness so long as you accept it.
For the first time since she’d arrived, Cherry left her roomwithout a feeling of overwhelming dread. She wasn’t afraid of bumping into Ruben in the halls, or sharing a meal with him. She wasn’t dreading the moment she’d have to push down all the feelings he caused in her gut and replace them with a show of disdain.
Yes, she’d needed to be miserable for a while, if only for her own peace of mind. And yes, she had resented him. Because despite the fact that she had agreed to all this, it still felt like a trap. But this was her reality, and would be for the foreseeable future, so she might as well get something out of it. Like… flirting with a man who was gorgeous enough to make her heart stutter. Yeah, that felt like a solid benefit.
And the money, of course. But currently, her parents were being awfully stubborn about taking it.
She entered the kitchen in search of breakfast, her anticipation spiking when she heard someone rooting around in the pantry. But then the pantry door opened, revealing Agathe, not Ruben, inside. The older woman’s face split into a smile when she saw Cherry. It was almost sweet enough to make Cherry forget her disappointment.
“Good morning!” Agathe’s voice was rough, her sing-song accent soothing. “How are you? Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Cherry smiled. She studied Agathe’s face for echoes of Ruben’s and found a few; the hawkish nose, the thick brows—though Agathe’s were blonde.
“Sit down, sit down. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Cherry was sure that she’d put on five pounds in the week since she’d come here. Which would be fine, if her clothes weren’t so… tailored. Then again, she was rich now. She could buy more clothes. “Actually, that would be great. But I can make it.”
“No, no, don’t be silly!” Agathe cried.
“Really, I like to cook.”
That gave the woman pause. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, mostly baking, but—”
“Oh, you bake?”
