Page 110 of Bitter Prince
He shrugged. “Not really.”
My brows scrunched. “What makes you say that?”
He bent his head, brushing his nose against mine. “If I were smart, I wouldn’t fall for you.” My heart fluttered and my soul sang. This must be what “died and gone to heaven” meant. “You are too good—”
My mouth pressed against his, silencing whatever words were coming next. What he said was perfect and I refused to let anything else come after it. He kissed me back, cradling my face, and a whisper of hope bloomed in my chest. That I was his forever, just as he was mine.
It might seem too fast—too reckless—but I’d loved him since I was six. It was a long time coming.
“Happy birthday, my cinnamon girl,” he murmured against my lips, both of us breathing heavily. I was in a daze and it took me a moment to realize he held a small box in his hand.
Lowering my eyes to it, I still held on to his neck, my fingers gripping a handful of hair at his nape to pull his mouth back to mine. He refused.
“Your gift first.”
I let out a frustrated moan. “You’re the only gift I want. For all my birthdays. Now and forever.”
His chuckle was throaty, punctuated by his hips pressing into mine, his erection hard against my stomach.
“Open your gift, Reina,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Then we’ll talk.”
An exasperated breath left me. “Talk about what? You waited for me to be eighteen. Now I am. For the love of God, Amon, please deflower me.”
Amusement flashed in his eyes and the stars in them shone brighter. Giddily, I took the credit for it. “This has to be a first. A girl asking a boy to deflower her.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Open your gift. The rest will come in due time.”
I unwrapped the gift, the small box light in my hand. “You know, today you have given me this beautiful dress.” I pointed to what I was wearing. “The shoes. How many gifts does a girl get for her birthday?”
“My girl gets many.”
Ah, I was so deeply in love with him there was no chance of recovery. Hoping that my poker face was at least somewhat decent, I opened the box and a pendant stared back at me.
My hand fluttered to my necklace—the only Japanese kanji symbol I knew. The only jewelry I ever wore. I’d gotten plenty over the years, but I never wore them, feeling it would be a betrayal to take Mamma’s necklace off.
“It could join your other pendant,” he murmured softly. “We can have them both put on one chain.”
I chewed on my lip nervously. “Are you sure?” He nodded. “What does it mean?”
A beat of silence passed before he answered. “It’s the Japanese symbol ‘ai’ and it means unconditional.”
A smile widened my lips and I blinked a few times, worried I’d start crying. I wasn’t even particularly emotional, but this man had a way of bringing all my tenderness to the surface.
“Thank you,” I whispered, rising to my toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Can you help me put it on?”
He nodded, and I turned around so he could unhook my necklace, then he slid his pendant next to my mother’s and the world was right.
45
REINA
That evening, the boat was docked at a pier in Monaco and the party was in full swing, just as the first week of July kicked off the height of the season.
I had no idea who all these people were, but they all seemed to know who I was. They kept coming up to me and wishing me a happy birthday. One or two men even tried to lean in to kiss my cheek, much in the way of French fashion, but stopped themselves short when catching Amon’s glaring expression.
It turned out my boyfriend had an extra possessive streak.
I moved to face Amon, looking dashing in his signature uniform with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hand rested on my hip, his crisp scent of citrus and apples like a protective bubble around me.
My friends and sister danced, nagging the DJ to switch songs from European techno to our fallback: Carrie Underwood country songs. If his expression was anything to go by, he was cracking.
