Page 103 of Bossy Wicked Prince

I’ve never had anyone who would do something like this for me and…

My chest aches.

“I know you don’t need my money,” he says. “I did this because I wanted to.”

Something about the way he says it, so flippantly, sets me off again, and even though I’m trying to rein it, I can’t. Not completely.

There’s a part of me that wants to push him away—thatneeds to—before it’s too late.

“How much did this meal cost?” I shoot back, the turbulence in my chest keeping me off balance. I should stop this before it goes too far. Before he ingrains himself so thoroughly in my heart that when he inevitably leaves me, the loss of him shatters it.

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter what it cost.”

“It does. I need to know how many hungry people you could feed for the cost of this meal.”

Stop, Cat. Stop.

“You’re overthinking this. You eating this meal doesn’t take it away from anyone else.”

I clench my fists beneath the table, try to shut up, but I can’t.

“It’s easy for you to say that when you’ve never really been hungry in your life,” I snap.

He thinks about that quietly for a moment and then nods. “You’re right. I’ve never wanted for anything, and I’m used to the best. That’s why I enjoy sharing it with you.”

I gape at him, not quite sure what to say. Now that he’s admitted I’m right, I’m starting to forget what we were arguing about in the first place.

“I can afford to help more charities,” he continues. “After I funded your shelter,someonegot me thinking about all the places I could be helping, right in our own city. UPS has hadstanding donations to museums and foundations for years, but we’re not doing enough directly for the people. I’ve been mulling over the idea of starting my own charitable foundation, so I can make sure I’m directing the resources to the right places. I might need some guidance, but I’m sure I can find someone to help.”

“You’re just saying that so I’ll sit down and eat my dinner quietly,” I say, but the fight’s gone out of my words and I know it.

He arches his brows. “Do you think I’m the kind of man who says what you want to hear?”

“No,” I admit. “You’re the type to just grunt and not say anything.”

He reaches out his hand, and when I take it, he pulls me right off my chair and into his lap. He takes my face in his hand, making me meet his eyes, and I’m powerless to pull away, held hostage in the winter sea I find there.

“I mean it, Kitten. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’m not good at thinking about what other people need, not like you are. If I’m not donating enough money to the right places, I should hire someone who can.”

Technically, he’s not offering to hire me, but he just described my dream job. A chance to find the best way to funnel money to people in need. People like my dad who might’ve had a better shot with the right resources available to him.

My mind fills with what I’d love to do. Create transitional housing to help people find homes, expand the shelter’s career services, better addictions counseling, maybe even lobby the city to expand its resources for unhoused people with disabilities…

“You’re worth every penny I spent to bring you here. Seeing your face when we saw the Eiffel Tower—I can’t tell you how happy it made me. You’re right—I’venever wanted for anything. It makes it feel that much better when I can share some of it with you.”

What remains of the fight in me slips out of my grasp at the sincerity in his expression. “Thank you,” I murmur even though it still feels strange to accept such an extravagant trip.

Nate weaves his fingers with mine and I feel him engraving his name in the places where I won’t so easily be able to remove it, but I can’t seem to stop him.

“You deserve this, Kitten,” he says gently, and I lean into him. “You deserve for someone to spoil you and buy you croissants andworship you.”

I swallow past the ache in my throat, blinking away the sting in my eyes.

Nate watches my face carefully. “Don’t you think you deserve it, Kitten?”

I look down at my hands, folded in my lap. “I don’t know. I guess I just…don’t feel worthy of it. I don’t know why.”

When I dare to look back at him, there’s understanding in his eyes. He picks up a small tart. My mouth waters just looking at it. He holds it up to my mouth.