I go to slap him again—need to hit him, need to make him feel even a fraction of what I'm feeling—but this time he catches my wrist. His grip is iron, unbreakable, and I realize with sudden clarity that this version of Maksim could hurt me if he wanted to.
"Careful," he warns, his voice low and deadly. "You don't get to play the grieving lover. Not with me."
"Play?" The laugh that tears out of me is sharp enough to draw blood.
I cover my mouth, trying to hold back the emotion threatening to overflow. Tears are already streaming down my face, hot and mortifying. I hate that I'm crying in front of him. The Ice Queen doesn't cry. The Ice Queen doesn't break.
But apparently, seeing the love of your life return from the dead will shatter even the strongest armor.
"Where were you?" I demand, my voice breaking traitorously. "What happened to you?"
"A private prison where I spent six years being systematically destroyed. Thanks to you."
I can’t make sense of what he’s saying. “What?”
"You had me killed so you could take power. Congratulations, by the way. The Ice Queen. Very impressive."
The Ice Queen. He says it like a curse. I realize with dawning horror what he thinks. What he believes.
"You think I..." I can't even say it.
I want to grab him and shake him until he sees the truth. Instead, I grab the lapels of his jacket and hold on. I can’t let go. The way he’s looking at me with disgust twists something inside me.
We're too close. I can feel the heat of him, see the pulse in his throat, notice the way his eyes keep dropping to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. The air between us is electric and filled with danger.
I should step back. Should create distance before I do something stupid.
But I can't move. Can't look away from eyes that used to look at me with such tenderness and now look at me like I'm the source of all his pain.
"I spent six years hating you," he whispers, and he's leaning closer despite the words. "Planning your destruction. Promising myself I'd make you pay for every scar and every moment of suffering."
"I can see it in your eyes. The hate. The rage. But Maksim... I never betrayed you. I swear on everything I have, I never—"
He kisses me.
The world explodes.
His mouth is on mine, hard and angry and desperate. For a heartbeat I'm too shocked to respond. Then six years of grief and longing and love that never died crashes over me. I'm kissing him back just as desperately.
This isn't the gentle, sweet kisses of our youth. This is fury and pain and need all tangled together into something that burns. His hands are in my hair, ruining the careful styling. I don't care. My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling muscles that weren't there before.
I'm crying and kissing him, and I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
He tastes different. Sharper. Like he's been drinking something bitter for so long he's forgotten what sweetness is. Or maybe it’s me. All of my bitterness is bubbling to the surface. But underneath, he tastes like Maksim, and that's all that matters.
Six years dissolve. The Ice Queen melts. The armor I've built cracks and falls away. I'm eighteen again, sneaking kisses and planning a future that seemed so certain.
His body presses me harder against the wall. I can feel every line of him—harder, leaner, dangerous in ways he never was before. But it's still him. Still the man I loved more than breathing.
Still the man I thought I'd lost forever.His kiss turns savage. Punishing. I meet it with equal ferocity. My hands slide up into his hair—shorter than he used to keep it—and I pull hardenough to hurt. He groans against my mouth. The sound sends electricity straight through me.
This is wrong. We're in a garden at my engagement party. Roman is inside. Security could find us at any moment.
I don't care.
Six years of grief and longing explode between us. His hands drop from my hair to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise through the thin fabric of my dress. I arch against him, needing to be closer, needing to erase every inch of space between us.
"Kira." My name sounds like a curse and a prayer falling from his lips. He breaks the kiss, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine. "I hate you."
