Page 64 of The Dandelion Princess
He takes a breath and peels the controller out of my hands, erasing all our progress. I ball my hands into fists and wrap my arms around myself.
“It’s not fine,” he says. “Not for me.”
The knife twists—stinging, intense. Mama thinks I have no genius for self-control, but she should see me now.
I cock my brow. “That’s on you, because I am a very good kisser.”
His mouth tips with a smile. “It’s not fine because I need you.”
My brows gather. I understand just enough science to deploy Occam’s razor—the rule that states that the simplest answers are usually the correct ones. Things are never more simple between Marc and I than when we are friends. More than any kiss—which was definitely good; I’ll die on that hill—Marc needs my support and loyalty.
I hope I look like a cool girl. Cool with anything. “I get it. I need you, too. Our friendship is too important to play around with—we need to knock it off.”
Even though Marc looks like a civilized spread in Businessmen’s Quarterly, he makes a low noise in the back of his throat. His eyes close for the briefest moment. “No, Ella. No.I am not doing well.This past month—and more—has been nothing but earnings projections, VP infighting, figuring out how to keep my workers employed in the face of ruinous tax regulations, and the logistics of putting on a benefit concert in the middle of the country. Do you know when I come up for air? The only time?”
I did not know there would be a pop quiz in the middle of this heartbreak.
“When I’m kissing you.” He swallows, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. “All the things I have to do, all the roles I have to fill, all the people I have to answer to—it gets quiet.”
I—I…
Suddenly it feels like I’m the one running into the brick wall over and over, caught in a loop.
He looks at me and takes a long time before choosing his next words. “What I mean is that if we want to turn this into a regular thing, I know our friendship is strong enough to stand it.”
I shake my head but it doesn’t clear. “Wait. What? I don’t get— Marc.”
In my confusion, he tumbles me back until I’m settled against the floor, and braces his hands on either side of me so that we are face to face. His expression is as serious as the Black Death. “Princess Ella Victoria Chiara Brunhild of Sondmark, should I repeat myself?”
My eyes widen and my hands curl protectively over my chest. I must look like a velociraptor. “Don’t you think you should?”
He nods. “You are my favorite princess. Whenever you walk into a room, I do a little,” he lightly pumps his fist in the narrow space between us, “because it’s going to be a good time. Every time. That’s not ever going to change. You got that?”
I think so?
“And you,” he adds. “Are you going to suddenly find someone else to send your taco cat memes to?” he asks.
I shake my head. “You love those things.”
“I do,” he agrees, tone serious. “None of that has to change.”
“What about—”
He settles a warm palm over my mouth and, with a quick jerk of his chin, makes a sibilant hush. I may be a princess, but I am also a normal, red-blooded Sondish woman. He can’t keep touching me if he expects me to listen.
“I can’t help the timing,” he says, furrowing his brow. If I’m confused, he is, too, working it out in real time. He hasn’t planned any of this. “And I’m not saying we date. I know we can’t date.” I wriggle but he holds me fast. “Noah would put my head on a pike if he found out I was…creeping around his little sister,” he swallows, “and you’re not looking for a relationship with someone on your mother’s list.” He’s so certain. I made sure he would be.
“But.” His breathing is labored. “But. We’re going to start seeing each other.”
I blush hotly. Is that a euphemism for sexy times?
I blink up at him, a million questions cascading through my head, and nip his palm. He darts his hand away and wipes it on the waistcoat.
“How far do you expect to take this?” I ask. Should my father demand pistols at dawn?
Marc hitches his breath and plants a soft kiss on my mouth, lingering long enough that the thoughts in my head evaporate.
“This far. Enough to take the edge off.”
