“I’m really fucking sorry you had to find out about this arrangement this way,” he says, his voice softening.
“I am too,” I say, then gesture toward the door. “Goodbye, Louis. Go find your wife.”
“I’m not leaving.” He takes a step closer, then another. “Do you hate me?”
“I want to. I need to. But I don’t.” I set down the chip bag and wipe my salty fingers on my shirt, which makes it ride up.
“Please forgive me. There is so much I want to tell you, but?—”
“You can trust me, Louis. I will take your secrets to the grave. You have my word. And …” I shake my head. “I forgive you.”
I watch the mask he wears in public slip away. Underneath it, he’s exhausted.
“I learned about this yesterday,” he explains. “About the princesses coming to stay here. My parents summoned me after lunch and told me everything was accelerating. I had less than a day to prepare and process.”
“You have to choose your bride in two weeks? That’s absurd.”
“I’m aware. This arrangement has always existed, Addison. I’ve known since I was eighteen that if I didn’t find a wife by the time I was thirty-five, this was the process. Now I’m thirty-six, and no one hasever felt right …” His words trail off, and he doesn’t finish his sentence. As he tries to gain control, he runs a hand through his perfect hair, messing it up even more. “There’s so much I want to tell you, but I can’t find the words. Everything sounds unrealistic.”
The anger I’ve been carrying shifts into something more complicated.
“This is why you were weird yesterday,” I say.
“Yes.” He meets my eyes.
I see stress carved into the lines around his eyes. He’s not playing games. He’s trying to be as truthful as possible.
Louis closes the distance between us until he’s right in front of me. “Do you know what it’s like to have your entire life planned out for you? Every decision already made before you were old enough to understand what you were giving up?”
“No,” I whisper.
“I know there’s no version of this that works. I’ve already played out every scenario.” His thumb traces along my bottom lip, and I grow breathless. “But I’m so fucking tired of doing what I’m supposed to do.”
We stand there, inches apart.
“You should go back to the palace,” I say.
His fingers slip under the hem of my shirt and slide around my waist. The contact sends heat rushing through me.
“Tell me to leave,” he mutters.
“Leave,” I breathe out, but I lean further into his touch instead of pulling away.
“You’re supposed to sound convincing.”
“I can’t.”
He’s so close now that I can see the navy flecks in his blue eyes. His breath ghosts across my lips, and I want him so bad that it nearly hurts.
“This needs to end,” I say. “You know that.”
I watch the realization settle across his shoulders. He takes a step back, and I feel the loss of him immediately.
“You’re right.” He shakes his head. “Of course you are. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He moves toward the door, and I watch him go, but I didn’t realize how much that would hurt. Tomorrow, I guess we’ll pretend this never happened.
He reaches for the door, and I can tell he’s fighting with himself.
