Page 25 of Bitter Prince

“Do they happen often?”

I shook my head. “No, not anymore. Only when I struggle to sleep.” Then, because I couldn’t resist, I added, “You seem surprised.”

The waiter came to take our drink order, so he didn’t answer right away. Once he left us alone, Amon spoke up. “I didn’t think a sheltered princess like you would have any reason for panic attacks.”

My back straightened and tension shot through me. “You don’t know anything about me. You should keep your assumptions to yourself.”

“Is that so?” His voice was calm, unbothered. “You don’t judge people?”

I swallowed. “I try not to,” I whispered. “We all came into this world screaming and covered in blood. All we can do is make sure we don’t leave the same way.”

A muscle in his jaw worked and his expression turned stony. “Where did you hear that?”

“I’m not sure,” I lied.Look at me, Reina,my mother’s voice whimpered.We all came into this world screaming and covered in blood. Promise me you and your sister won’t leave the same way.I didn’t understand those words back then. Still didn’t, to this day.It’s too late for me, she’d said.

“I have no problem leaving the same way,” Amon said, giving me a strange look. I wondered if I’d pissed him off. “That is, with someone’s blood on my hands.” We stared at each other. “That seems like an awfully soulful quote to be carrying around with you. Most seventeen-year-olds aren’t out there thinking so morbidly.”

My pulse hammered, hoping he would just drop it. I needed to steer this conversation in a new direction, and fast. “Know a lot of seventeen-year-olds, do you?” I fought to keep my tone steady. “Besides, it doesn’t concern you. Why don’t you keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine,” I whispered, surprised at his inquisitiveness. “It’s not like you’re an open book.”

He stilled as if surprised. “You’re lying to me. You know exactly where you heard those words.”

Did he hear them somewhere too?I wondered. “Yeah? And where’s that?” I challenged, unwilling to cave in to his questioning so readily. “Where did I hear them, oh mighty Amon Leone?”

He let out a sardonic breath. “It’s what the Omertà is built on.” I watched him, unwilling to say anything. I had heard my papà say those words, but I heard my mamma say them first. “Right along with ‘See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil,’” he stated.

I sneered. “Kind of hypocritical, don’t you think?” I retorted dryly. “Given that in the Omertà, that’s all men do.”

“And what do we do exactly?” he challenged. “We are businessmen. Nothing more; nothing less.”

Thankfully, I contained my snort. It wouldn’t have been cute at all. Instead, I waved my hand, frustration bubbling in my throat. “Whatever. I’m not going down that road. You keep your secrets, Amon,” I repeated softly. “And I’ll keep mine.”

“Fair enough.”

Tension melted from me as I exhaled. “Have you been in Paris long?”

“I come and go.”

“How long will you be around this time?”

He shrugged. “I have to close out some business deals, then I’ll see.” Amon pointed at my menu. “Do you need help?”

I lowered my eyes and realized it was all in Japanese. “Yeah, but I thought your oba said she was getting you your favorites.”

“She’s your oba now too,” he pointed out, amusement coloring his voice. “Not everyone likes sashimi. Better order some other things in case.”

“I’ll eat whatever you’re having,” I said. “Whenever we eat Japanese with Grandma, we have tuna rolls. I love them, but I’m ready for something new.”

The waiter came back with our drinks and a variety of items I didn’t recognize. He placed the dishes between us. My mouth watered and suddenly my stomach growled.

I smiled sheepishly. “I’m hungry.”

“I can hear that,” Amon said, amused. I reached for my chopsticks, grabbing one and holding it like a knife, prepared to stab the first sushi roll when Amon’s fingers wrapped around my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Eating.”

His eyes lowered to the chopsticks and back up to my face. “Not like that.”

“I’m not good at holding chopsticks,” I grumbled. “I’ve tried, and it always ends in a big mess.”