She tilts her head side to side. “Yes … and no.”
“Not vague at all. Got it.” I chuckle, trying to make her feel better.
“It’s complicated.”
“Let us help,” Dean pleads, brushing his thumbs against the back of her hands. “Please.”
“You truly can’t, even if you tried. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks, and my heart aches. “I don’t live in a palace with golden gates and servants. I live in a glass cage, and with one wrong move, everything will shatter. My stepmother …” She trails off. “She will make sure that I lose everything. Being with you two, no matter how badly I might want to, will be the nail in my coffin.”
I mull her words over, trying to read between the lines. I wish she would just tell us who she is, let us help. Because it may not feel like it to her, but I’m damn sure we could make a difference, especially with the two Kensingtons at her side.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice pained. “I shouldn’t have let you guys do … that. It’s not fair to you?—”
Dean cuts her off, “I promise you, wewantedto do that more than anything. Don’t apologize, baby. It’s okay.”
I rub her shoulders. “Can you stay for a little longer tonight?”
She pauses for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”
“Good.” I kiss the back of her head, desperate to know more about her. “You go to HEAU?”
She stiffens slightly. “I do.”
“What are you majoring in?” Dean asks curiously.
She thinks it over for a second, probably debating if she wants to tell us at all. “Design.”
“Like computers?” I perk up. “Because I’m in computer science.”
“I know.” She giggles. “And Dean’s in business.”
Dean scoffs, a smirk tipping his mouth, “Are you checking up on us, Princess?”
“Maybe,” she teases. “I know more about you both than you could possibly imagine.”
“Oh, I see. You’re a little stalker, huh? This is just a big scheme to get us to fall for you.” I smile, happily under her spell.
That comment earns me a giggle. “Unintentional stalking perhaps.”
“Hmm,” Dean hums. “Unintentional stalking—I don’t think I’ve heard that term before. So, what? We’re not good enough to inspire you to intentionally stalk us?”
“That’s not exactly what I said, is it?” she challenges him back.
Dean loads up another question before she has a chance to say anything about leaving. “Have we spoken before? Like, without your mask? Have we met?”
“Kind of,” she quips.
“So mysterious, Princess.” I press my lips against her ear again, breathing her in deeply, committing her scent to memory. As if it’s not already there. “Tell me something … something about your life that we don’t know.”
“I’ve lived in Evermore my entire life,” she admits, maybe unknowingly giving us valuable information. “You guys were adopted, right? How old were you?”
I answer, “We were ten.”
“Did you know one another before getting adopted?”
“No,” Dean responds. “We first met here at the house.”
“Was it hard suddenly being thrust into a new life, a new family, expected to play your part?” Her question is so direct.
