Page 101 of Wicked Prince

He shakes his head. "We've been over this, Amelia."

"Yeah, we have," I agree. "Which is why I really don't get why you're confused."

"You can't pretend like last night didn't mean anything to you," he says, taking a step closer to put his hand on my elbow. I resent my heart for the way it flutters at his touch, even now.

I’m so pathetic.

"Okay, so I won't," I say with a shrug. "But it still doesn't change anything."

He sets his face into an even more exhausted expression.

"And you came here with Stefan," he says pointedly, as if it's supposed to prove something. "Did you take anything I said seriously at all?"

"I looked into it," I say, folding my arms.

"And?"

"And," I reply, "I still need to hear Stefan's side before I make any judgment calls."

"Seriously?" He rubs his face tiredly. "What, you think he's just going to come out and say, 'Oh, yeah, you got me. I totally murdered that girl. Want to go out for coffee?'"

"Seems like I have a better chance of that than getting you to be honest for once."

That seems to catch him off guard, so I seize the opportunity to push past him and disappear into the crowd. The one benefit of it.

All of a sudden, this party has me feeling claustrophobic. I could use some fresh air.

I've barely been on the balcony for a few minutes when I realize Lorenzo has followed me.

Because of course he did.

I grip the railing, praying for patience I’m running thin on. I would blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but honestly, he’s always stirred that kind of reaction within me.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I demand, spinning around to face him.

He walks out onto the balcony, his hands slipped casually into his pockets. "As many times as it takes for it to sink in," he counters.

"For what to sink in?" I demand, officially losing my patience. "That you're a possessive asshole who thinks he has a right to control me just because we slept together a couple of times?"

"That I love you," he counters.

It takes me a second to process that. And the fact that I can't pick up on a trace of sarcasm or deception in his tone.

For what feels like an hour even though it can't have been more than a few seconds, I just stare at him blankly, at a loss for words.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

"You… what?"

"I love you," he says, taking another step closer. While I'm too vulnerable and shocked to do a damn thing to escape.

Once the shock gradually begins to fade, though, the anger sets in.

"Don't," I say through my teeth. "Don't you fucking dare."

"It's the truth," he says. "But that's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Because you love me, too. I know you do. You don't have to say it—it's in the way you look at me. Even when you're furious. And the way you say my name when—"

"Stop!" I cry, my fists clenched so hard at my sides that I can feel my nails digging into my palms. "Just… stop. I don't want to hear any of this."

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