Page 121 of My Dark Horse Prince

“I’m going to shower. We can talk about it more later.”

I expect him to stop me, to complain that I’m going, or to insist that I stay and talk it out. But he doesn’t. He lets me go. And even after I’m ready for my date with my makeup done and my hair styled, I don’t see him.

Which means I was right.

He was the monumental nuisance that he has been because he needed me that whole time. Now that he’s been restored, I’m free to do as I’d like. Just like every other man I’ve met, he wanted something from me, and once he got it, bam.

Done.

I drag a few breaths in and out, until I’m sure I won’t start crying, and then I slide into some cute flats for my date. Maybe one day I’ll risk heels again, but with my leg, probably not. The fashion’s really not worth that kind of pain.

I’m on my way out—it’ll be my first time driving my new car—when Adriana reaches the apartment. “Wow. You look pretty fancy to be teaching lessons.”

“I don’t have any set up for today,” I say. “So far, I only have them on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Enjoy that while it lasts,” Adriana says. “I’m sure Kristiana will be working you to the bone again soon enough.”

“She never—”

Adriana waves her hand through the air. “I know, I know. She walks on water. She sweats sunshine. Whatever. The point is, you look really nice. Are you going somewhere?”

“Actually.”

Adriana grabs my wrists and squeezes, her eyes lighting up. “Please tell me we’re going out. You’re ready to get over that hunky, too-good-too-be-true prince guy, and we’re going drinking?”

My sister rarely drinks, but when she does. . . The mornings after I drink with her have been the worst hangovers of my life. I shake my head. “Sorry. I’ve got a date.”

“A date?” Her face falls, she drops my hands, and her shoulders slump. “Well, that’s depressing.”

Only my sister would think a date was depressing. “You’re supposed to say, ‘good for you, getting out there again.’”

“Dating’s stupid.” My gorgeous, smart, petite, blond-bombshell sister drops onto the end of the sofa. “Boys are stupider, and any girls who date them are the stupidest.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of stupid for one sentence.”

She sighs dramatically.

“At some point, you might actually meet someone who could change your mind.”

She holds up a finger. “Dad died.”

“Okay, but—”

She waves a second finger. “Danils screwed you.”

“Well, the—”

She melodramatically holds up a third. “Martinš. . .I think the name is enough.” She shudders.

Maybe she’s right.

“And now, even the fairy tale prince—gorgeous, rich, and chivalrous—has let you down.” She waves her hands in the air. “Just get out of here, you never-ending font of ridiculous hope.”

I grab my purse and head for the door, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

“Wait.”

I turn around slowly. She’s flipped around on the sofa and she’s hugging the back, her eyes intense. She spears me with a very pointed look. “Who’s the date with?”

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