Page 67 of Spearcrest Prince

“Well, how hard can it be?”

His eyes widen. “What, to be in love?”

I laugh. “No. I don’t believe in all that. I mean, to make them believe we’re in love.”

“What do you mean you don’t believe in all that?”

We get interrupted by the arrival of food. The waiters arrange the plates beautifully in front of us and pour wine into our glasses. But Séverin’s eyes remain on me, the weight of his gaze resting on me even when I look away. The waiters withdraw discreetly, and I immediately tuck into my food.

“Well?” Séverin says, frowning imperiously at me. “What do you mean, you don’t believe in all that? You don’t believe in what—love?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I believe people want to be together, sure. They want security, or affection, or even sex. But love, like the concept of a utopia, is just that. A concept invented by artists and poets and writers to give them something to write about.”

“Wow,” Séverin says drily. “An artist who doesn’t believe in love? How edgy.”

“I don’t think you can make fun of me for being edgy when you dress like you’re allergic to colours and call yourself a Young King at school.”

“It’s not edgy to dress cool. It’s edgy to pretend not to believe in emotions.”

“You surprise me, Séverin,” I say sweetly, biting into a succulent forkful of fish. “I would never have pegged you for such a bleeding-heart romantic.”

“I’m not a romantic,” he says, glaring at me.

“Is that why you were trying to kiss me that night on the trip?” I ask, grinning at him, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “So that we can fall in love and live happily ever after?”

“Don’t be a little shit,” he says. “I wouldn’t waste love on you.”

“Smart. Save it for someone better.”

“I’m not saving it for anyone. I’ve sworn off love, actually, but that’s none of your business.”

I raise an eyebrow and speak in an awed tone. “Sworn off love? But Séverin, what else will break the curse and free your heart from its cage of ice?”

He throws me a glare. “Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t make it so easy for me to mock you.”

“Anyway,” he hurries to add, “I wasn’t even speaking about actually falling in love. I was just trying to make you realise how stupid you sounded.”

“Well, it might be love that keeps your parents together,” I say with a shrug, “but they can’t believe in love all that much if they forced you to get engaged to me.”

“I think that’s why we’re here, though. Because they want us to fall in love.”

“Well, fine then.” I set down my cutlery and lean forward. “Let’s give them what they want.”

His green eyes narrow. He looks at me with mistrust, which is ironic given I’ve never been anything but honest with him.

“You’re saying let’s fake being in love?” he says.

“How hard can it be?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re going to fake a fake emotion?”

I reach one hand down the side of the table, lifting my fingers. “Give me your hand.”

Still frowning, he mimics my gesture, reaching his hand across the table. I tangle my finger with his and let our hands rest on the snow-white tablecloth.

“There. It’s not that complex, is it?”

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