Page 83 of A Girl and HER Prince
“You’re more than your duty.” Her cool lips brushed against his forehead and she began working off the bandages on his stomach.
“I’m not sure anymore,” he whispered. “I’ve been f-fighting who I am… for so long.”
“You can’t fight who you are—youjustare who you are.”
She didn’t understand. He was hiding everything about himself… this person who got hurt and felt it deeply, who wanted to trust and love and make his father proud. “Death hurts… not when you’re the one dying…”when you’re the one who loses someone you love.He took a deep breath. “I miss them… I miss… me, too.”
Her fingers pressed into his stomach and she watched him. “I see you,” she said. “I like who I see. Now stay with me, Aeneas!”
The sweetness of what she’d said overcame him. Why must he lose his Nightingale when she was his everything? He wanted to kiss her one last time.
He reached for her and she let out a breath of shock when he caught her lips in the middle of telling him to lie back down. He kissed her with the same desperation that had first filled him when he’d almost lost her in the water.
“Venice,” she whispered against his cheek, but he wouldn’t let her talk, only kissed her more urgently. Tonight, he didn’t want to set her free. She was here and she’d keep him from getting lost in this shadowy sea.
Her fingertips gently ran over his neck, and she cradled the back of his head with her hands, setting him back down on the wooden planks.
He smiled up at her. “That’s a kiss to remember me by.”
She gave him the same stern look he’d seen from his tutors when he’d gotten out of line in the classroom. “None of that! Stop being a baby! And no more kisses until you get through this… that should besomeincentive to live.”
So that’s how she was going to play it? The colors of the world blurred around her face. He reached up to trail his finger across her smooth cheek. “Nothing common about you. I’ll dis-disobey my father one—once more. Stay—stay… with me until the—the end.”
Her lips firmed. “You might not feel the same after…” Pain ripped through his stomach when he felt her pour something wet, freezing cold andstingingall over his skin. His chin lowered as he tried to see what she was doing to him. He let out a grunt when he saw. It looked like she’d found a different use for that whiskey. She set down the bottle and picked up a needle.
The crazy thing was that he could barely move to stop her. “Luvvy…” he tried to say in warning.
“You’ll thank me when this is through.” She nodded. “I’m getting your arm next.”
Was she out of her mind? The needle went in.
She is… really insane! His woman was stitching him up. Man, I love her!He let out a yelp as she stabbed at him again. Her eyes drifted up to meet his. “This would be a whole lot easier if you just passed out,” she said.
That forced a laugh out of him, and he grabbed a plank of wood next to his hand and held on for life.
How could he ever think to be worthy of this… needle-wielding fanatic? He’d been so arrogant, so spoiled. Could he ever be a better man? “I hope it’s not too late,” he whispered.
“It isn’t,” she said firmly.
But his country deserved a leader with the kind of strength who could lead them out of poverty; one that could somehow turn them from their desperation to find peace; where people, like Turner, could finally walk freely through their homeland and never feel fear again—a place where they could trade, hold music festivals, and gather children in their pavilions.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t do it right…” His mind went to his friends and family. They were in danger because of him. “Bris, Achilles—they’re depending on me. Turner! Such a bad childhood. He never should’ve dated my sister.” He groaned. “I wasn’t nice to Deedee.”
“Shh,” Livvy said harshly.
“No!” He shook his head. She had to listen to him. “I don’t want to let you go!”
Her hand froze over him. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re—you’re…” He couldn’t really think. “I can’t keep a mermaid… I can’t love…”
Her beautiful eyes narrowed on him, filling him with despair. “Of course youcan’tlove,” she snapped. “Is that what your father has drilled into your head since you were a kid?” She went back to stitching his stomach; every jab, every word cut into him. “You can’t have a heart! No! You have to take everything on your shoulders! You can’t hope. You can’t dream. You can’t… feel.”
“Luvvy?” He chuckled darkly at such passion and then at the pain. “Stop. It hurts…” She kept stitching him up. “No, really, it hurts!”
She didn’t stop. Her eyes watered.
He panicked at seeing her tears. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “Don’t cry. It’s fine.”
