My heart dives deep into my rib cage.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Before I can think twice, I lean up and press my lips to the corner of his.
He sucks in a breath, and my stomach somersaults.
“I know you won’t.”
Chapter 31
Genevieve
I stare at the ceiling of the guest room, replaying last night on a loop I can’t shut off. The hug. His face in my neck. His hand cupping my cheek.
My mouth on the corner of his. I press my fingers to my lips like I can still feel it, and my stomach flips so hard I have to close my eyes and breathe through it.
Get up. Act normal. Be a person.
I find Lance in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in his hand, Cavall at his feet. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt and sweats, his hair is messy from sleep, and when his eyes find mine, the air thins.
“Coffee’s ready,” he says, the same as every morning.
But his gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before he looks away, and my whole body goes warm.
“Thanks,” I manage, pouring a cup and leaning against the opposite counter because distance feels necessary for survival. “Your coffee sucks.”
The kitchen isn’t big enough. It’s never been big enough. Every time one of us moves, the space between us shrinks.
Neither of us mentions last night, but we don’t have to. It’s sitting in the room like a third person, watching us pretend.
“Jules texted,” he says. “Her and Felicity are coming over this afternoon. Dress thing for the party.”
“I’m not going.”
He looks at me over his mug.
“If Art doesn’t want to be my partner in every sense of the word, then I can’t just sit there and pretend we’re fine.”
“I get that. But you need to play the game, just like your dad said, Half-Pint.”
“He didn’tsayit, he implied. I could have been wrong. And I’m not a chess piece.”
“No, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you’re not playing one on the board.” He sets his mug down. “The queen’s the most powerful piece, but she’s also the most patient.” He swallows like the memory pains him. “You’re the queen, Genevieve. Hold your moves close and let the other pieces show themselves first.”
“Who told you that?”
“Bev—” He shakes his head. “Cassandra.”
His nanny. The woman who infiltrated his family under a fake name and then vanished.
“You’re quoting a piece-of-shit liar who betrayed you as sound advice?”
He shrugs. “She fooled my entire family for over twenty years. Good advice doesn’t change just because you don’t like who gave it. Wasn’t it you who told me to hold on to the good things?”
“And what piece are you, then?”
“The knight, I guess. Good for sacrificing when shit gets bad.”
