Page 7 of Rowdy Prince
When I look at him again, he’s smiling like I just said the funniest thing.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask.
“Because, querida, you’re exactly as I remember you.”
“What does querida mean? You keep calling me that.”
“It’s a term of endearment. Like, darling or sweetheart or love. I call you querida because that’s who you are to me. And if I were any other man than the man I am, I’d take you home and keep you there as my own.”
It’s getting hard to breathe. “What are you saying, Luis? I know I may sound stupid asking this, but I need you to spell it out. Are you saying you want me but you can’t have me? Or are you saying you intend to take me, but can’t keep me? Because if we have to choose one, I vote for the latter.”
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest. “I vote for the option where we go to the cabin and hope nobody ever comes looking for us.”
“But they will come looking.”
He opens his eyes and turns towards me. “Yes. But that’s not something I can think about. I want you to pretend we’re the same people we were that last summer when everything changed. Forget I’m a prince. Forget about our limited time. Just look on me as a man.”
“What do you mean by changed?”
“I saw you as a woman for the first time. You’ve been in my mind and my heart ever since.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way. You didn’t act on it.”
“You’re Mitch’s little sister. And I was leaving. I couldn’t.”
“I’m still his little sister, and you still have to leave. Why is it different now?”
“Because we’re running out of time. In my country, the king can’t marry outside nobility. Once I take the throne, I won’t have the freedoms I do now. I won’t be your Prince of Bullshit anymore.”
I press my lips into a solemn smile. I know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but I’m not sure how to respond to this information. He’s telling me he wants me while also dealing a critical blow to any ideas I might have had for a happily ever after. Sometimes life isn’t fair.
“Well,” I say finally. “I suppose you’ll be the king of bullshit instead.”
He chuckles and looks out the window. “You’re probably right. It feels like bullshit at the moment.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because there isn’t really anything else to say. I’m sorry for him and I’m sorry for me. This doesn’t feel fair.
“Me too. It’s not lost on me how selfish I’m being by coming here and doing this to you.”
“No,” I say straight away. “I don’t think it’s selfish. I understand why you’re here, and why you’re doing this. But I do have to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“Is there someone else?”
“What?”
“Waiting for you in Reinquero. If we go to the cabin and I, uh, give myself to you, will I be—”
“No!” he blurts. “No. There’s no one else. I assure you. There’s never been anyone else.”
“Really? The news articles made it look like you—”
“I haven’t.”
“Wow. So this is…something new to us both then?”
“Yes.”
