Page 11

EMORY

P rince Charming is Not Happy to see us when we get to the gym.

His eyes snap to my face, and he scowls.

I’ve never seen him in workout clothes before.

I didn’t know he worked out, though—my eyes drop to the heavy curve of his biceps where his arms are crossed—he must work out a lot if he looks like that. There’s no softness to his body.

Just like there isn’t in his face as he gives me the same once-over I just gave him. I’m in the cropped tank and loose pants Sienna gave me, and the fabric slides like silk over my skin. He must hate what he sees, because his eye twitches before he looks away.

“Why is she here?”

“Excuse you,” I mutter.

“Settle down. I invited her. She wants to spar with us,” Sienna says.

“Does she know how?” His brow raise is imperious and arrogant.

“Well, since you manage to do it, she’ll be just fine,” I snap. “She’s also standing right here.”

Sienna covers her smile with her hand, and Katie just shakes her head as she heads for the mats on the right side of the room.

Aiden jerks his head at Tristan and heads for the opposite side of the room.

“When do I get to punch him?” I ask Katie.

“We’ll work with partners later. Although I’m not sure you should be paired with him.” She eyes Aiden where he’s warming up across the room. “He’s—”

“Raw.” Sienna supplies the word and gestures for me to join her on the mat. “Since Dad died, Aiden goes to a dark place sometimes. He has bad days. After a year of counseling, he has good days too.”

“More good days now,” Katie offers quietly.

“Yeah, more now,” Sienna agrees. “We all do. But Dad’s death hit him the hardest. They were close. Aiden worked with him every day. Dad taught him everything he knew about the business.”

What about you? I don’t ask, but my heart goes out to her. To all of them. Even Aiden with his growls and his scowling.

Katie starts us with drills and stretches, and I can’t help but sneak glances at Aiden as he and Tristan warm up on the other side of the gym. There’s an intensity to his movements that isn’t there with Tristan’s. If Aiden is a blade, he’s been honed too keenly. One wrong stroke and he’ll shatter.

“Why do you train?” I ask as Katie hops to her feet and heads to the bags. She’s not winded from the drills, just glowing.

“Because it’s fun,” Sienna says.

“Because it’s necessary,” Katie replies. “I need to keep my skills sharp, and these three seem to enjoy it.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness there. “They won’t travel with bodyguards as much as I’d like them to, so this is the next best thing.”

“Soon, she’s going to let me have a gun,” Sienna says happily.

“I most definitely am not.” Katie tosses us hand wraps.

“I should have a gun.” Sienna frowns. “I’d be really good at it.”

“You should not be armed,” Katie says dryly. “For the public’s welfare.”

I snort a laugh and stretch my other leg. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I want to focus on holistic women’s health. Abortions included.” She tips up her chin, as if daring me to challenge her.

I grin at her. “I’m impressed. But mostly, I want you to tell me where to punch your brother to really make it hurt.”

Sienna laughs, and Katie shakes her head and points at the bag. “We train MMA style here. Mixed martial arts. Along with some more practical tips. Everyone learns grappling and striking. We’ll start with striking, and then I’ll show you some grappling, but we’ll pair up for that.”

“Get ready,” Sienna mutters. “She’s going to make it look easy, but it’s not.”

“I heard that,” Katie says before she turns and slams her foot into the bag in a perfect roundhouse kick.

“Holy shit.” I scramble to my feet. “Teach me to do that. I want to do that.”

“It might take a while to get good,” Katie says. “You’ll have to train.”

I nod. “I want to.” Katie is the girl I want to be. Strong and confident, yet still feminine. A woman doing a man’s job and making it look easy.

Thirty minutes in, I’m winded and my foot hurts, but Sienna says that will go away as I learn to kick with proper form. She’s on the bag now, with Katie watching, while I sip my water and watch Aiden spar from under my lashes.

He’s beautiful. I can barely follow his hands as he and Tristan move across the room. His face is hard and his body tight, each of his movements controlled. Does he fuck like he fights? Intense and businesslike?

A woman’s body is probably an anatomy chart to him. Press here. Insert there. Missionary most days and maybe her on top if he’s feeling wild.

Or maybe he’d look at her with those green-gold eyes and she’d drown in them while he watched her face. All that businesslike intensity would be trained on making her finish. I shiver while I imagine it.

Tristan goes to the mat, muttering a curse, and Aiden helps him up. There’s something cold under his skin today. Even as Tristan grins and punches him in the arm, Aiden seems to take no joy in it. His jaw rolls as he motions Tristan to start again.

I look away before he can see me watching him.

Katie claps her hands and steps to the center of the room. “All right. Everyone’s favorite part of the day. No Whit today, so I’ll be swapping out with you. Pick your partners.”

When I look at Aiden, he’s already looking at me. “Him.” I’m already moving toward him.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Tristan mutters.

Sienna says something that sounds suspiciously like “I can’t wait to take your money,” but their voices fade into the background as Aiden and I move to the side of the room.

The mat is springy under my feet as we circle each other.

Katie walked us through the basic grappling positions, and I mirror Aiden, who is slightly crouched, with his hands raised. His face is still stony, but his eyes blaze with cold fire.

“Control,” he says as he circles me.

“What?”

“Control.” His voice is clipped. “You want control and you want to keep me from having it.”

He feints forward and I jump back.

“Is this how you learned?”

He stills, his throat working. “Yes,” he finally says. “When I was younger.”

From his dad. Suddenly, the wary look in his eyes doesn’t seem like coldness.

It seems like grief. As he watches me from under his thick lashes, my chest pinches.

It’s one of my worst, or best traits, depending on how you look at it—I can’t stand seeing other people in pain.

Their discomfort sits like a heavy blanket, one I itch to throw off.

A wound I want to stitch together. Leo says I’m annoying, but he says it with fondness.

“Okay. Control. I can do that.”

“We’re grappling, but you can still strike. Like I just did.”

I eye him before kicking out with my leg, but Aiden snags my ankle and surges over me. His arm goes to my chest, his legs tangle with mine, and his breaths feather over my jaw.

“You want to maintain the top position.” I feel each word where his chest moves against mine.

“Is that what you think women like?”

His eyes flare before he jumps off me. I’ll take it. I might not be able to beat him, but I can unsettle him, and that’s just as fun.

He tilts his head, mouth lifting as we circle each other. “I don’t think of you as a woman.”

“I don’t think of you at all.”

He’s almost smiling now. “Bring it. You want control, but you also want access. Don’t let me get an angle on you. Keep me straight in front of you. Let’s go.”

I kick out again, figuring my legs are stronger than my arms, and he stumbles to his knees. I lunge, victory already singing through my veins…and end up slammed to the mat. The breath rushes out of me. I blink into Aiden’s pleased face.

He smirks and presses an arm over my stomach. “Try to get me off.”

I lift my hips, trying to buck him off. “Typical man,” I huff. “Likes it missionary and wants me to do all the work.”

He grunts. “Come on, Emory. You’re stronger than this. Use your hips.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” I growl.

He’s infinitely frustrating, and god, I hate being worse than him at something. I buck ineffectually against him.

“Like a weak little kitten,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning my face. His lower body doesn’t make contact with mine, and I wonder briefly if he’s doing that intentionally.

“You are repellant.” I scowl.

“Some women like me.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

A rusty laugh tears from him and dies as quickly as it came, like he doesn’t have much practice with joy.

He jumps back and gives me his hand to help me up. “Fight me,” he growls. “You’re holding back. Fight dirty. In a real fight, you’d go for the eyes, the instep, the nose. Your legs are strong. Your hips are strong. Use them. Don’t let me get you on the ground.”

Something fires in me at his words. It’s the little piece of me that’s always been better when he’s the competition, the animal part of my brain that recognizes the other alpha and wants to beat him or, barring that, impress him.

When we were younger, I thought we were meant to be because it seemed we were always aware of each other. I knew where he was in a room at all times. When I looked at him, he’d be looking at me. I used to read the insults in his eyes.

Try again, little Hunter , when I got a problem wrong.

Finally , when I pronounced something right in French class.

You’ll never beat me , when our test scores were announced senior year.

In his eyes now, I see get me on my back. Fight me like you mean it.

I narrow my eyes before I lunge. I manage to push him back until he digs a shoulder into my stomach.

I go tumbling and land face-first on the ground.

He’s at my back before I can draw a full breath, and I buck, trying to throw him off, until his arm goes to my shoulders and his legs bracket my thighs.

God, he’s strong. He’s all muscle. I wriggle. Even his legs are like steel.

Aiden Prince might act like an automaton, but he feels—and fights—like a man. Warm breath, hot skin, hard muscle, a pounding heart to match my own.

His breath is rough in my ear. “How many times have you bribed the mayor?”

I still. “What the hell?”

“Answer it. Honestly.” His voice is hard.

“This is dumb.” I wiggle under him, and he makes an annoyed sound, his chest pressing against my back. I feel each harsh breath like it’s my own.

He smells good. Really good, actually. Salt, laundry soap, sweat, the lingering musk of cologne. I will myself not to notice.

“I don’t have all day.”

Oh, fuck him.

He thinks I’m bribing the mayor. He thinks I’m a liar. Aiden always assumes the worst when it comes to me, just like every other person in his world. Hatred burns away any lingering amusement. I wish I hadn’t cheered him up. I wish I didn’t like the way it feels to have him pushing me into the mat.

“I’ve never bribed him. That money was for the public high school, you prick. Which you’d know if you ever stepped off your pedestal to get involved with the rest of us.”

He stills. “Why does the school need money?”

“No.” I bite the word out. “You asked. I answered. Now it’s my turn.”

“Ask, then.” His words are rough and low in my ear. His hand lands next to my face.

Aiden always assumes the worst about me, but I can think of one time he was just as bad. “Why did you lie about cheating off me in school?”

“I don’t lie.”

“Our parents came to the school, Aiden. You said I would never cheat off her . Your meaning was clear.”

I still remember the disdain dripping from his voice on the word her .

My grades spoke for themselves, and I was fiercely proud of them.

I’d clawed my way to each and every A. It was the only arena in which I was equal to Aiden and the other heirs.

And yet, in that moment, I felt smaller than a speck of dust on Aiden’s carefully pressed suit jacket.

When his grandfather showed up at the school, along with my dad, everything got worse.

His grandfather looked through us. It was the first time that happened to me, but I’ll never forget the way his eyes managed to see and not see me at the same time.

Like our realities overlapped but didn’t exist on the same plane.

Like I was just a blurry outline, insubstantial and easily dismissed.

“I didn’t lie,” he insists. His hand next to me clenches.

“You did .” I spit the words, so angry that it’s a good thing Aiden is at my back, because I’d probably go for his eyes if we were face-to-face. “I saw you looking at my paper.”

“I wasn’t looking at your paper.” His voice is stiff.

“Yes, you were.”

“I wasn’t,” he fires back.

“You were. ”

“I was looking at your breasts,” he exclaims. “Fuck. I was checking you out, okay? I couldn’t admit that.”

The breath leaves me in an unsteady rush.

“You what ?” I arch, and try to turn under him. I need to see his face.

“Did you ever stop to consider what that would have meant for me?” His whisper is harsh.

I twist my hips, and he leaps off me.

But not before I feel how hard he is under his pants.

Oh, shit.

When I sit up, everyone is trying not to watch us but failing miserably. Katie approaches and helps me off the mat. She gives me a half smile and passes me a water. “There are memories here for him. It’s not easy.”

I shrug. “It’s really none of my business.”

“I saw you draw him out, make him smile.”

“You have it wrong. I was just doing what we always do. Hatred is the most comfortable place for Aiden and me.”

She looks at me. “I know,” she says with a frankness that makes me want to like her, against my better judgment. “You know today was the first time I’ve seen him smile in a year?”

I barely control my reaction. A year.

“Since his father died,” I say faintly. That’s horrible.

“I’ll help you,” she says. Her gaze is earnest and open but determined. “I’m very good at what I do. I want this marriage to seem real just as much as you do.”

“Why do you care?” I ask. “I’m curious. You could lead a very different life. Away from all this.”

She shakes her head. “This family gave me everything. I love them. Aiden is a good person, I promise you. If marriage means he has purpose, I’m all for it.”

She opens the door for us, and I escape gratefully into the sunshine.

A year. A year of not smiling. A year of shutting himself inside and shutting everyone else out.

As much as I try to squash it, a tiny tendril of sympathy grows inside me.