Page 35

EMORY

O n Thursday, Aiden pushes open the door between the bathroom and my bedroom for the first time ever.

I blink at him from the bed. I’m in a sleep shirt—no bra, no underwear, and my hair in a messy bun. Prince Charming is wearing trousers and nothing else. He hasn’t shaved today, and the scruff on his jaw makes me want to rub my face against it.

I would give anything for him not to look like this. All ruffled and sleepy, with those heavy chest muscles that gleamed under the water of the shower.

Bet I could make you beg for me.

My brain is unhelpful today. I’d never beg him. So why does the idea of begging him send little stabs of need through my stomach?

“There are rules, golden boy. No conversations before nine a.m. And no talking to me without a shirt on. Go away.” I cradle the tea I snagged this morning before I scrambled back to my room. Tea will protect me.

He leans against the doorjamb, looking idle and unconcerned. “I didn’t get the memo. Have your people call my people.”

I scowl at him. “The rules are unwritten.”

His tongue swipes over his lower lip, because for thirty-seven seconds, I’d forgotten how good it felt against my own. “My house.” He smirks. “My rules.” His eyes snag on the tea as I bring it to my mouth.

“I don’t like you.”

His smirk deepens. Something about the shape of his mouth must make smirking easy for him. “I know,” he muses. “Heard it turns you on.”

I growl, and he laughs. The sound tugs at something inside me. I can’t help but notice his laughs are getting easier, the sound rounder and less rough, like his happiness is ballooning out of him.

“We need to talk,” he says, his smile fading.

“Okay,” I say warily.

He sits heavily on the bed. I want to snark at him that he needs an invitation, but there’s a tension to his shoulders and the curve of his spine that makes me swallow the words.

“We have an event Saturday night.”

“The opening of summer party. At House Fairfield. I remember.” I’m very much not looking forward to it, since I’ve tried on all my dresses and found every one of them lacking. But I’m not telling him that. Faking it until I make it is how I get by.

He nods, his throat working on a swallow. “I might be different Saturday.”

“Like…nice to me?”

He spears me with a look. “I have social anxiety.”

Oh. I hold myself still, not sure what to say. This is an unprecedented level of trust from Aiden.

“Being in big groups makes it worse, and then I don’t talk.

I know it comes off as coldness, and—” He swallows whatever he was going to say.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know so you don’t think it’s about you.

” He runs a palm over the velvet throw at the end of the bed, watching his hand move over the fabric, the same way I do when I’m feeling anxious.

“I haven’t really socialized since my dad died, and even before then, I was…

not adept at it.” He grimaces before he looks back at me.

His eyes are shadowed, and suddenly, I realize he’s waiting for judgment from me.

My chest squeezes.

“How long do we have to stay?”

His brows tug down. “I don’t know. Long enough to make it convincing that we’re in love.”

“Okay, so twenty minutes?”

“Sure.” He eyes me warily. “Why? You don’t have to change things for me—”

“I want to play a game,” I tell him. He snaps his mouth shut. “One I used to play with my brothers at big family events.”

He tilts his head, looking intrigued. “A game?”

“It’s called three best things. You steal the three best things you can find at the party, and then you meet up to share the loot.

Whoever gets the best stuff gets to keep it all.

” I grin at him. “I was very good at it. Small hands. I once stole Uncle Enzo’s wallet out of his pants.

I got to keep the cash in it too. Dad was so proud. ” I present my hand for his inspection.

He blinks at it before he tips his head back and laughs. The sound spreads warmth through me, reaching into every corner of my body.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, even though I’m smiling.

He looks at me, his mouth pulling into a grin. “I just—that’s such a you game to play.”

“I’m a Hunter.”

“I know,” he says, and for the very first time with him, it doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

His eyes are warm and his mouth is smiling, and suddenly, the space between us seems so very small.

Just two feet of bed, and he could be on me, pushing me into the mattress like I imagined he wanted to do in the library, his mouth on my neck like it was—

“What are the rules?”

His words douse the heat in my stomach. “The rules?”

His lips press flat. “There have to be rules.”

“That is such a you thing to say.”

“How do you have a winner if you don’t have rules?”

I press my fingers to my mouth to stop smiling at him. It’s ridiculous that he makes me feel like this. I don’t even like him. “Tell me something, golden boy. Do you save the best bite of food for last?”

“Of course I do.” He looks affronted, his eyes narrowing. “Do you not?”

I shake my head. “Of course I don’t. Hunger is the best seasoning. I eat it first. Do you still not own jeans?”

“I don’t really need jeans, strictly speaking. I could do everything in these trousers. This pair has a little bit of stretch—”

A laugh bursts out of me, and I cover my mouth while Aiden scowls at me. “Do you iron your underwear?” I ask through my laughter.

“I mean, I don’t, but someone might.”

I double over, palms to my face.

“Are you all right?”

“I can’t believe I’m married to you,” I gasp through my laughter. When I look back at Aiden, he’s fighting a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “The condition is temporary.”

I feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach.

I blink at him in confusion as he saunters back into the bathroom, totally unconcerned. Something must be wrong with me. For the very first time, I forgot this marriage was ending.

“Twenty minutes. Starting at nine.”

Aiden looks at his watch. “Okay. Nine twenty p.m., then. We meet on the terrace like you said.”

We’re behind a massive potted fiddle-leaf fig in a soaring atrium at House Fairfield that Saturday night. We’ve socialized, awkwardly, and now we finally get to play. As soon as Aiden’s watch chimes, we’ll be off.

“What would you do if it took me until nine twenty-five?”

His eyes flick to mine. I suck in a little breath at how handsome he is in his tux. It’s one I’ve never seen before. The lapels are velvet and there’s the crest of House Prince embroidered on gold on the breast pocket. It should look tacky, like a uniform. Instead, it makes him look like royalty.

With that bone structure and that shiny hair, he could wear a crown so well.

The whole ballroom agreed when we walked in earlier. The air seemed sucked from the room. More than one person watched him greedily. Hell, I watched him greedily, wishing we hadn’t made our stupid deal not to touch and knowing at the same time that it’s a very good idea.

I shiver and focus on meeting his eyes.

“I would win,” he says crisply.

“Do you care very much about winning?” Of course he cares about winning. Beating me is Aiden’s lifeblood, I suspect, like beating him is practically a religious experience for me.

A laugh goes up from the ballroom, presumably from a speech the host is giving, welcoming all the elite to their annual summer party.

“I love winning.” His eyes spark.

Good. This is good. Distraction, keep him from focusing on how much he hates this.

And why do you care so much?

Because I hate seeing other people unhappy. Because Aiden is…not my friend exactly, but my ally.

“Could have fooled me,” I say idly. I lean against the wall, a glass of champagne dangling from my fingertips. “Since I spent so much time beating you.”

He steps into my space, his hand going to the wall above my head. “I’m very good at winning with you, evil queen.”

The words feather over my upturned face, his lips so close that I could close the space between us in less than a second.

Just one heartbeat, and he could be groaning into my mouth like he did in the garden.

I really need to stop thinking about that.

I really need to stop noticing how hot he is.

He couldn’t have made me finish. There’s no way I’d finish with Aiden, of all—

His watch makes a sound. His mouth goes to my ear, his teeth tugging at the lobe. “Game on,” he says before he whirls and strides away.