Page 69 of Bitter Prince

“Come on, cinnamon girl,” I said, my tone breezy despite how I was burning up on the inside. “Let me give you a ride.”

I winced the moment the crude suggestion left my mouth, but her carefree laugh was totally worth it.

“I’d like nothing more, Amon Leone.”

29

REINA

Amon held the door for me as we entered the ice cream shop on Rue de la Huchette.

“Welcome to Amorino. The best place in town for ice cream.”

I let my eyes wander over the cozy little shop. It smelled like homemade waffles, sweets, and chocolate. The interior was nice and clean, but ancient-looking. The red chairs and white tables gave it a vintage feel. The shop boasted a green tiled floor and the guy behind the counter wore a white hat… It looked like a scene from the movies my grandmother used to star in.

“I didn’t take you for a guy with a sweet tooth,” I remarked, glancing over my shoulder.

He looked sharp, all six feet of him, clad in dark jeans and a white T-shirt that showed off his muscles. It made my heart flutter and my blood sing. Women gave him double takes, eyeing him hungrily. It didn’t matter though, because he was with me.

I reached behind me, slipping my fingers in between his while he carried our helmets. How he managed to look cool with my small pink helmet hanging off his fingers, I had no idea.

He stilled. “I’m not,” he answered, his fingers tightening around my own. It was such a simple gesture, yet it made me warm everywhere, even my face.

“So why ice cream?”

“Because you like it.” My heartbeat wavered before pumping faster. He warned me not to fall in love with him, but I feared it was too late. That six-year-old girl might have fallen for the boy way back when, not realizing she’d never get her heart back.

The truth was that I didn’t want it back. I just wanted his in return.

I raised my eyebrows, keeping my cool. Barely. “I hope you’re not going to watch me eat without getting some for yourself.”

He smiled again and my heart fluttered in that familiar way that seemed to happen only around him.

“I’ll get a scoop too.”

“What flavor?”

“Cinnamon.”

I scoffed. “I don’t think there’s cinnamon-flavored ice cream.” Then I shook my head. “What is it with you and cinnamon?”

He bent his head, his lips brushing against my earlobe. “I like it. It’s my favorite flavor. Scent. Everything.” I pulled away to see his face. A smile pulled on his lips and his eyes shone with stars I wanted all to myself. “And yes, there is cinnamon ice cream here.”

He seemed sure, almost as if he’d been here before. “Is this your go-to date spot or something?” I asked, narrowing my eyes on him as I took my spot in line.

Amon’s hands came around my waist, his towering frame protective at my back.

“You’re the first,” he whispered against my ear, sending a shudder down my spine. Gosh, I loved his scent. His warmth. His voice. I loved everything about him. “You are my first for everything, my cinnamon girl.”

My stomach warmed as I tried to decipher what he meant. Was he not in the habit of taking girls out? Did he not date? His gaze burned into me. My heart danced at his words that I liked more than I should, but there was no stopping it. I had always been all in or nothing. There was no middle ground for me.

Five minutes later, we sat at the window table, people-watching and eating our ice cream. Amon got one scoop of cinnamon flavor. I got green apple, lemon, and vanilla.

“Does your father know you’re getting harassed in school?” Amon’s question surprised me.

I shrugged. “No.” His eyes remained unreadable and secretive. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Okay.” And just like that, I liked him even more. “You’re not close with him, then?” he asked.