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I assumed the worst. I tend to do that, as you know—overanalyze and worry unnecessarily. That is, when I’m not being overly optimistic and seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, like my father always says I do. Not sure how it’s possible to do both, but what can I say—I’m talented.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I hiss to Rafe. “I don’t want to even know where they’ve been.” “Let me know if you change your mind about that.”
Honestly, Prince of Darkness would be a more fitting title for the duke.
I watch as Callum swings her around, the tablecloth she appears to be wearing fanning out behind her.
Callum has his arm thrown over the shoulders of a petite blonde woman wrapped up in … is that a checkered flag? No—it’s a dress. A travesty of fashion, but definitely a dress.
My first thought maybe should be celebration. With the perfect prince out of the way, I might stand an actual chance with Seraf. But the image of pain on her face flashes before me. I can’t be happy about it, because she must be crushed,
I simply always assumed he and I were on the same page. In actuality, it’s more like I’m reading a book and he’s watching the film adaptation.
It’s like having the full heat and light of the sun beaming directly at me.
Rafe—of all the people in this palace—noticed my hunger and brought me food. This simple gesture melts a tiny bit of my shattered, icy heart.
“Why are you acting so nice?” “Who said I’m not nice?” “Nice is never a word I’d associate with you,”
“But you just called me nice,”
I’m SO not okay that even the concept of okay looks like a tiny speck on the horizon, a tiny island or maybe a mirage.
“A little less drama and a little more using that law degree, please. Every contract has a weakness.” “Did you learn that by watching American legal dramas?” Kat gives me a pointed look. “No.” Yes.
“Now. About Operation Ditch the Bi—” “We’re not calling it that,”
Rafe takes a sip of his champagne, his dark eyes still searing me. “Stop doing that,” I demand. “Doing what?”
Of course, Rafe is the kind of man who can name-drop designers.
Rafe tsks. “Princess! Are you planning to slum it with a viscount now that your prince is taken?” Oh, this man!
“I simply promised to introduce Kat to the Viscount of Denbury, and I wanted to make sure she didn’t fall for your particular brand of charm first.” Rafe’s smug look turns positively insufferable. “You think I’m charming, Princess?”
Look away from the devil’s bum!
“Kitty Kat, put in a good word for me with Princess here, would you? She seems to think I’m some kind of devil.” “Oh, I know you’re some kind of devil,”
“Just a handsome one.”
“I feel like I need to take another shower.”
“So the duke does have an effect on you!” “Not that kind of effect!
“You’re welcome to have mine as well, Princess.”
I’ve wanted to hear him say my name like that for so long. But not anymore. Not when he has a girlfriend. I can’t. It’s not who I am. And if this is who Callum is, maybe I don’t want him either.
“Mind if I steal the princess for a dance?”
“Don’t make me beg.”
“Though I’m not above begging when it’s something—or someone—I really want.”
“How did you know?” “I know you better than you think, Princess.
“Seraf, I would never take you for granted. It would be simply impossible.”
“Did you hit the wine too hard at dinner, Rafe?” His eyes darken. “No. A man would have to be daft to miss the treasure you are.”
“You want a dose of reality?”
“You are gorgeous. Brilliant. A truly good woman. And if given the opportunity, I could make you completely forget Callum in a matter of minutes. But I want more than mere minutes. I want hours and days.”
“A lifetime,” he whispers. “Maybe a lifetime would be enough.”
“I want to be adored. Cherished. I want someone I can trust. I want a chance at love, even if it has to grow from friendship or from duty first.
“If you were mine”—Rafe’s arms tighten around me—“I would treasure you. I would adore you. I would cherish you the way you deserve.”
I plan to leave the palace a strongly worded two-star review.”
“You’re insufferable.” “Thank you.” “Not a compliment.”
“I can read you better than you think.”
Now. Why did you come here?” “Not to get you out of your dress,” he says, and then his eyes take on a devilish twinkle. “At least, not like this.”
Forgive me?” “Why do you care if I do?” “I care more than you know,”
“Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
“Who is this serious, responsible guy, and what did he do with the playboy devil?”
“Aw, Angel. Did you make the mistake of typecasting me into just one role? You should know I can play many parts.” “I guess I’m starting to see you in a new way. I’m not sure who you are.”
“I’ll be anyone you want me to be, Angel.”
If she were a gif, she’d be the one of Michael Jackson throwing popcorn in his mouth, grinning.
The crown prince has great forearms. Whoop-de-do. They don’t compare to Rafe’s biceps.
“What, exactly did it look like?” Kat asks. “Just a quick visual, if you don’t mind me asking.”
The moment they’ve gone, Rafe removes his jacket, draping it over my shoulders as he gives me the strangest embrace of my life.
It’s hard to be hugged when you’re lying on a table, trying to hold a thin gown over your otherwise naked body while a man behind a curtain is pulling Spanish royal porcelain from your derrière.
