Page 113 of Spearcrest Prince

“You can always text me,” she says, looking up. Her gaze is direct and honest. “I want you to. So you never need to worry about that.”

Silence falls once more. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the gallery, night has fully fallen. The windows have become a black mirror, reflecting the long room. The lights near the doors are on, but not the rest of the gallery. Everything is dim and peaceful.

“You should have told me the boy in your sketchbook was your brother,” I say after a while. “That time in the forest.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I did.”

“You asked, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to fight—remember?”

“I wanted to play.”

“You wanted to kiss me, but you were too much of a coward to just ask.”

“You might have said no again.”

“That’s not a good reason not to ask.”

I turn to throw her a glare, but she’s concentrating on her painting. She refuses to let me see it—for all I know, she could be painting me as an eel. But I don’t care.

All I want to do is trace the streak of violet paint that stretches from her jaw to her chin. To thread my fingers through her silky black hair and breathe in the scent of her. To take her in my arms and to my bed.

The silence doesn’t last long. Anaïs is the one to break it this time.

“You should’ve asked me to come to that stupid party with you.”

“I wish I had. I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Because I didn’t want to look like a fool.

Because you told me you didn’t believe in love.

Because you’re the first person I’ve ever felt this way about, and because you’re intimidating and self-assured and unapproachable.

“Because I was afraid you’d reject me again.”

“I’ve never rejected you.”

“You told me you wanted to just be allies.”

“How is that a rejection?”

I give her a sardonic smile. “Because, trésor, I don’t want to kiss and hold and fuck my allies.”

Her cheeks redden, but she says nothing.

This time, the silence stretches between us for longer, heavy and warm and full of palpable tension. She watches me as she paints, her eyes lingering on my face, my mouth. I lick my lips, and she follows the movement.

I’m the one who breaks the silence this time.

“You should have told me about your plan.”

“I didn’t trust you.”

“Nobody understands how this engagement feels more than I do, trésor. I would have understood.”

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