Page 54 of Reign

Then, in a single motion, he closed the distance between them and pushed Daphne against the wall, behind an open shelving unit of sheets. His mouth landed on hers with brutal swiftness.

She should cry out, or slap him, or push him away. Yet her body didn’t seem inclined to do any of these things.

It was as if Daphne drifted outside herself, forgetting every core tenet of her being—who she was, what she wanted—and let herself melt into Ethan. Her mouth opened on instinct, deepening the kiss. Her arms were still pinned back against the wall, but she didn’t care.

She’d forgotten how readily they fit together, how good it felt to be tucked up against him. Every inch of him so achingly familiar, so infuriating, so intoxicating.

Dimly, as if from a great distance, she heard a male chuckle. “Whoops. Looks like this room is, um, taken.”

Then the door shut behind the intruder, and Ethan pulled away. Daphne sucked in a breath, stunned.

What had just happened? And why had sheallowedit to happen?

“I’m sorry.” Ethan met her gaze, though he looked nervous. “I heard the footsteps and figured this was our best option. At least it would make them go away quickly.”

“The best option?” Daphne’s voice came out hoarse. “Youwantedus to be caught making out?”

“All they saw was me! Why did you think I pushed you so far back against the wall? I hid you behind this stack of towels!”

“They’resheets,” Daphne hissed, though through the haze of her anger she realized that Ethan was right. She looked down at the tulle frothing up around her knees like whipped cream. Somehow, in that split second between the sound of footsteps and the door opening, Ethan had thought to kick her voluminous skirts behind the shelving unit. Whoever was standing in the door would have seen Ethan’s body leaning against someone—and almost certainly heard the soft noises Daphne had been making—but there was nothing to identify the mystery girl as her.

He had protected her, strange and unexpected as it was.

Daphne edged around him, tugging her skirts impatiently after her. She resented the tension that still pulsed between them, thick as smoke.

“It’s fine,” Daphne snapped. “Just forget it ever happened, okay?”

She straightened her gown and cracked the door open a sliver, glancing in both directions down the hallway. When she felt certain the coast was clear, she headed back toward the party.

Luck was clearly not on her side tonight, because the moment she entered the ballroom, Gabriella stepped into her path.

“Daphne, hello.” Gabriella reached for the diamond necklace at her throat and toyed with it idly, twirling it around her finger as if it were a plastic children’s toy.

“Gabriella.” Daphne started to brush past, but Gabriella’s next words stopped her in her tracks.

“Where did you disappear to? It’s not like you to leave your own party. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wereup to something.” There was an emphasis on those last three wordsthat would have been almost comical if Daphne weren’t shivering from apprehension.

“If you must know, I was in the ladies’ room.”

“Nice try, but I was just in there.”

Well, fine. If Gabriella wanted war, then war she would get.

Daphne laughed as if her enemy had said something outrageously funny, drawing them to one side of the ballroom. To everyone else, they probably looked like two friends sharing a secret. “You really need to stop stalking me, or you’ll regret it,” she warned.

“I’m trying to make you realize how out of your league you are. Dating a prince is one thing, but marrying one? I blame myself, honestly. I should never have let things between you and Jeff get as far as I did. But I was in France”—a slight accent laced Gabriella’s voice with those words, deeply pretentious and artificial—“and honestly, I just assumed he would sleep with you until he got bored. I never imagined he would take it so far as to getengaged.”

Daphne stood up straighter. “Even if you did manage to break us up, which you won’t, he’s not going to date you.”

“I don’t care. At this point I’d settle for getting rid of you.”

“How charming,” Daphne said flatly.

“Honestly, Daphne, you’re lucky that Beatrice woke up and redirected the tabloids’ attention. But I’m not worried.” Gabriella smiled cruelly. “It’s only a matter of time before your parents do something stupid again. Then the Poker Princess will be back in the headlines where she belongs.”

There was something distinctly proud, almost proprietary, about the way Gabriella spoke that last sentence.

“Gabriella.” Daphne’s voice was ice-cold. “Are you the one who invented that nickname?”