Page 65 of Spearcrest Prince

“How is that obvious?” I ask. “How are you this sure?”

“Because.” She flaps a hand. “Because no matter all your talk about hating what I wear and about me being a gold digger, you didn’t care about any of those things before you found out my name. You saw me, and you liked—well, you likedsomethingabout me. Whatever you liked then, I’m pretty sure you like now. And if I hadn’t known it was you, I would have had no reason to back away, either. So, of course, we would have had sex.”

“I don’t like you, I just—” I lean forward. “What didyoulike, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said I danced with you because there was something about you I liked. But you’re the one who led me away from the dancefloor—you wanted me too. So what part of me is ityouliked before you found out who I was?”

She laughs, a soft sound, surprisingly sweet. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“My idea of what’s obvious seems very different from yours.”

“Well, it’s not like I was attracted to your good humour and sweet disposition,” she says, lips quivering in a repressed smile.

“What were you attracted to?”

“Why are you fishing?” she asks, sitting up to lean forward in perfect imitation of my gesture earlier. “You know how pretty you are. You don’t need me to tell you.”

“You think I’m pretty?” I ask, voice low.

It’s not the word I would have chosen for myself, and it’s not like I give much of a shit what Anaïs thinks about my appearance. But those lovely words in her mouth feel unexpectedly, delightfully good. They feel like silk against me, and I can’t help but want to arch into them, to savour them.

She nods. “Yes, Séverin. I do.”

“How about that night on the trip?”

“What night?”

“That night I came into your room and got on your bed? Was I not pretty then?”

She sits back with a sigh. “You were drunk.”

“So?”

“So, don’t be stupid.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You know you were making a mistake. You would have regretted it the moment you woke up.”

“I didn’t regret what happened in my room, though.”

Her laugh, this time, is edged with sarcasm. “You should. You ruined a perfectly good moment with your pride.”

“It was a little more than good.”

“Fine. It was wonderful. It was breathtaking. And then you ruined it.”

“I just wanted you to admit you shouldn’t have rejected me,” I point out sullenly.

“I didn’t reject you. If I’d rejected you, I wouldn’t have made out with you in your bedroom, would I?”

We stare at each other across the dim light of the limo. The air is too hot, the silence too heavy, suffocated by white leather and polished glass.

“Anyway, it’s happened, and now it’s in the past,” she says. “Why fixate on it?”

It’s a good question.

Why can’t I stop thinking about everything that’s happened between us? The coat room, the forest floor, the balcony, my bedroom?

Because no matter how much I hate the engagement we’re trapped in, no matter how much I resent our parents for forcing us into it, I just can’t find it in my heart to hate Anaïs.

---