The Prince. Кира Касс
You just have no idea how to express it. Your father can be as cold as ice, and your mother hides within herself. You’ve never seen people love freely, so you don’t know how to show it. But you feel it; I know you do. You love me as I love you.”
Slowly, I shook my head, fearing another syllable out of my mouth would start everything up again.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
“What?”
“Kiss me. If you can kiss me and still say you don’t love me, I’ll never mention this again.”
I backed away. “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.”
I didn’t want to confess how literal that was. I wasn’t sure how many boys Daphne had kissed, but I knew it was more than zero. She’d let the fact she’d been kissed come out a few summers ago when I was in France with her. So there. She had me beat, and there was no way I was going to make an even bigger fool out of myself in this moment.
Her sadness shifted to anger as she backed away from me. She laughed once, no humor in her eyes.
“So this is your answer, then? You’re saying no? You’re choosing to let me leave?”
I shrugged.
“You’re an idiot, Maxon Schreave. Your parents have completely sabotaged you. You could have a thousand girls set before you, and it wouldn’t matter. You’re too stupid to see love when it stands right in front of you.”
She wiped her eyes and straightened her dress. “I hope to God I never see your face again.”
The fear in my chest changed, and as she walked away, I grabbed her arm. I didn’t want her to be gone forever.
“Daphne, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she said coldly. “Feel sorry for yourself. You’ll find a wife because you have to, but you’ve already known love and let it go.”
She jerked free and left me alone.
Happy birthday to me.
DAPHNE SMELLED LIKE CHERRY BARK and almonds. She’d been wearing the same scent since she turned thirteen. She had it on last night, and I could smell it even as she was wishing she’d never see me again.
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