“Probably wanted their genuine reactions,” mutters Kit. “Nothing better for PR than a crying princess. Likely have a bloody camera shoved in all their faces.”
The server drops off our drinks, and I silently wish I’d ordered something with a kick to it as I down my ginger ale. But when I go for another snack—something that looks vaguely cheesy—Kit takes my hand.
“Can we talk about that interview?” he says, and I frown.
“Which part of it?” I say. “Because I think you’re right. They didn’t know for sure. They saw my mom’s ring and were fishing—”
“Not that part of it,” he says, and he takes a deep breath. “The last part. When they asked about us.”
I blink. “Wait—about us getting engaged, you mean?”
He nods. “I realize this isn’t the most romantic setting—quite possibly it would win an award for the least, given the circumstances—but I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Not in any imminent way,” he adds hastily at what must be the lookon my face. “But it’s certainly been on my mind. Is there…Do you…” He hesitates. “Is that something you’ve been thinking of, too?”
My brain sputters, and it takes me a full five seconds to comprehend that he’s asking if I’ve been thinking about marrying him. “I mean—notactively,” I admit, which I immediately realize is the wrong thing to say. “I just—of course I want to marry you. That’s completely the plan. One day, when we’ve both graduated and have jobs and—you know. All that stuff. If you want to, I mean.” I swallow. “Do you?”
“Yes,” says Kit, and there’s no hesitation in his voice. His fingers curl around mine. “I’d marry you in a heartbeat. But I know you have reservations, and there is never any pressure. Or rush.”
Reservations.He makes it sound like I’m not sure, and something about that sits wrong with me. “I—I’d marry you in a heartbeat, too,” I say, even though I know I don’t sound nearly as convincing. “Really, I would. It’s not about us. You’re the best thing in my life, and as far as I’m concerned, we’re a done deal, as long as that’s what you want, too. I just…” I shake my head. “I’m nineteen. You’re twenty. I haven’t even started university, and we’ve had one hell of a year, and supposedly our brains aren’t even fully developed yet, and I just want to be—settled,you know? Or at least have some idea of what the rest of our lives together will look like before—before—”
“I know,” he reassures me, folding my hand between his. “Astrid brought it up to me, that’s all. Multiple times,” he adds wryly.
“Astrid?” I wrinkle my nose. “Why does that have anything to do with…Oh.”
They want an engagement to top off the tour and premiere. Like icing on a cake with a diamond-shaped cherry on top. My skin starts to crawl, and I shift in my seat uncomfortably.
“That’s what Idon’twant,” I say firmly. “For this—for any of it to be a damn show. The world already thinks that we belong to them, that—that what’s between us is somehow their business, too. But no one gets to decide when we get engaged, or when we get married, or when we have kids, if we even have kids at all—no one except us, okay? I don’t care if it takes us twenty years to get there—”
“Twenty years?” says Kit, amused, and his eyebrow quirks.
“—I will not haveanypart of the real thing be dictated by Astrid, or Doyle, oranyone,” I say with every ounce of conviction I feel. “I mean it. If one of us proposes, I want it to be because we really mean it—”
“I’ll be the one proposing, thank you,” says Kit, squeezing my hand.
“I can propose if I want to,” I insist.
“Centuries of the famed Abbott-Montgomery chivalry will force me to say no and break your heart,” he says, a playful hint in his tone, “only to turn around and propose right back, you know. The dynamic will be terrible. It’s best just to let me do it.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. You can do it. But I mean it. If it happens—”
“When.”
“—whenit happens, the only factors are you and me, okay? Nothing else.No oneelse. No pressure, no rush, like you said.”
“I promise,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips and pressingthem against my knuckles once more. “Just you and me. Nothing and no one else matters.”
Exhaling, I let my shoulders slump a bit, right as the theater door opens. Someone slipping out after the intensity of the bombing scene, no doubt, but I can’t see who it is from our corner. “Thank you,” I say. “And when you do…not to ruin the suspense, but I’ll say yes.” It’s not even a question in my mind. “I just don’t see the harm in waiting until we’re older when we know it’s forever anyway.”
Kit chuckles. “By that logic, there’s no harm in not waiting, either. But I understand. We’ve given them plenty to talk about for now. This is just for us, on our own time, when we’re both—”
“Thereyou are.”
Tibby’s voice cuts through the quiet bar, and we both turn in our seats. She hurries toward us as she furiously types something into her phone, theclick-click-clickof her heels signaling her urgency.
“What’s happening?” I say. “Is everyone okay? Did the movie really open with the bombing? Is my mom—”
“It began with news clips from that day, and real footage of you both and His Majesty,” says Tibby with a dismissive wave. “Surprisingly tasteful, all things considered, but still not something I wanted to relive. Have you checked your mobile?”
“What?” I glance at my clutch, which sits abandoned between a basket of peanuts and the cheesy things. “No. What’s going on?”
