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“For all of our sakes, I hope that’s true,” she says, capping the bottle of vodka. “Because as loyal as I am to what I’ve built here, I couldn’t ever not love something you made.” She glances down at my belly, a sad smile touching her lips. “Not even the heir to East End.”

When I rise from the chair, lunging for her, she meets me halfway, the embrace as hard as it is sweet. She smells like cinnamon and cloves, and even if only for a moment, it’s the smell of home. I pull it in, hugging her close, feeling lighter now that some of the secrets of the past are lifted between us.

I know that there’s one more bridge I need to rebuild.

I just have to figure out how to do it.

19

Verity

Classical,subjective, or empirical probability.

That’s the bane of my Friday afternoon in stats class with the ex-Prince, Professor Winston. The lecture is drier than sand, and I spend the first ten minutes of it trying with all my might not to nod off to the sound of his droll voice. Sometimes, like an intrusive thought, I imagine what he must have been like in the palace during his Princeship. Who was his Princess? I’ll have to ask Adeline next time I’m at the Gilded Rose, even though it’ll just make the visualizations worse.

Not that they aren’t already awful.

I picture him giving a ‘deposit’, all sweaty and red, panting as he regales the poor girl with the statistical probability of successful insemination.

The disgust is almost strong enough to keep me alert.

The only thing that truly rouses me is a sudden knock at the door, Professor Winston pausing with his hand poised over the whiteboard. “Enter!” he calls.

And when the doors swing open, Lex is the one walking through.

I straighten in my seat, freezing when his amber eyes land on me. Him showing up in my stats class is unexpected enough, but that’s not what makes heat rise to my cheeks.

His hair is down.

Lex slides the professor a look, something passing between them, and then Winston nods, continuing his lecture. Confused, I watch as Lex climbs the pitched floor to my row, dropping his bag on the table and taking a seat beside me.

I gawk at him openly, watching as he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “What are you—”

He slides a cup of coffee to me, leaning over to whisper, “I was late this morning.”

I take the coffee automatically, because, yes. I waited for him in the courtyard, achingly disappointed when he never showed up with my daily dose of caffeine. I almost thought of paying a low-level DKS to snag me a cup from the cart, but I resisted, keeping my promise to only get coffee from him.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I wish I could say that the first delectable sip is the most indulgent part of the moment, but it’d be a lie. I slide a furtive gaze to him, noting his sleeves have been rolled up, the cordy muscles in his forearm twisting as he twirls a pen between his long, precise fingers. A fidget, perhaps? “How can you be here?” I wonder.

“OChem let out early,” he explains, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. Down the row, a girl watches him with a slack mouth, practically salivating. A quick glance around the room shows she’s not the only one. Lex Ashby, to my knowledge, hasnever—not once—worn his hair down in public. “Winston doesn’t mind. He’d probably suck my toes if I asked nicely enough.”

I recoil. “Please. No more visuals.”

He tucks that lock of hair behind his ear again, only to rake his fingers through it and send it tumbling back into his face.

Nowthatis a fidget.

“What’s with you?” I ask, more fascinated than suspicious. That is, until his weird jittering sends up an alarm. Frantic but quiet, I ask, “Are you on drugs?”

His amber eyes snap to mine, full of outrage. “Of course not!” When his reaction draws the attention of a few surrounding students, he huffs, draping his arm over the back of my chair. Just like that, he’s the very picture of casual, a finger winding idly in my hair. “I’m not used to having an hour to donothing.”

“Oh,” I breathe, inhaling his clean, spicy scent.

Suddenly, I wish we were in bed.

Which reminds me...

“Uh, so… how’s Pace?” I ask, speaking the words to his smooth cheek.