The man rushing downstairs like his life depends on it is not Winston Constantine. It’s a weak boy who’s worried about a girl—his girl. I shed the villain at the door to her bedroom that’s now dark and slide beneath the covers. I shove the coupon into the palm of her hand, curling my own around hers, forcing her to crumple it into her fist. Her body is stiff as I inhale her hair and nuzzle her neck.
“Cuddle coupon,” I murmur. “You said they never expire.”
Her body relaxes, and a small, teary laugh escapes her. “Never.”
“Next time, negotiate better, Ash,” I say with a heavy sigh, squeezing her to me. “Please. I need you to.” Because I can’t let you go. Not yet.
She nods. “Next time?”
I was certain tonight would be the last time, but my dumbass is addicted to her. Just like I am to the stupid gummy bears. “Yeah, next time. I’m not done with you. You’re not a millionaire yet. My investments always pay off.”
“I’m more than an investment,” she tells me, her voice shaking though she tries to be brave. “I’m just yours.”
I don’t argue with that.
Tomorrow, I can ream myself for being weak.
Right now, I’m her prince. Hers. Maybe only for a few hours, all of which we’ll be sleeping. Regardless, it’s what I’ll be.
“Who’s Layla?”
Her question is a cold rain of reality drenching me. “No one important.” It’s the truth, and I know she hears it in my tone. “No one like you.”
“Good,” she murmurs before her breathing becomes soft and rhythmic with sleep.
I don’t fall asleep, though.
Because if I get to be a prince, even in the dark for just a few short hours, I want to be aware of it. I want to be present. I greedily take every second.
18
Ash
I wake to the smell of bacon, and my stomach grumbles. Francis scurries in with a tray of food, leaving it on the nightstand before rushing out. Winston is no longer in bed, though his masculine, soapy scent still lingers in the air. I sit up and pull the tray into my lap. It’s then I notice my phone sitting beside me on the pillow he slept on.
After inhaling a few bites of eggs and bacon, I grab my phone to check for any missed messages.
Win: Emergency business meeting in Paris. Took Perry with me. It should be a quick meeting, but it needs to be done in person. I’ll return Monday evening at the latest. I’ve emailed you with your education fund details as well. Don’t let anyone in my house while I’m gone unless their last name is Constantine.
Typical Winston. All business. No mention of the emotional night we had.
My heart aches at the memory. He’d been so cold when he came home. Distant and borderline cruel. But I thought like always, I could draw him out of his mind and into my arms to a place where we meet in the middle on even ground.
He wouldn’t allow it.
His walls were high and made of steel. I know his mother played a part in it. Still, I couldn’t help the way my heart physically hurt when he denied me his tenderness. Sure, I should have negotiated it up front, but I didn’t. I’d thought—hoped—he’d soften for me. Instead, he left me sobbing.
But he came back.
Clean and offering a cuddle coupon.
Winston Constantine is a hard nut to crack, but I won’t give up on him. His mother might think I’m beneath him or using him, but she’s wrong. He and I match up in ways I can’t explain. We just match. And with each passing day, I discover more and more about him that I want to know and protect.
He might be ready to give me up because I’m a threat to his cold heart, but I won’t give him up without a fight.
Me: Miss you already.
His response is immediate. Five eyeroll emojis in a row.
Win: Needy.
My heart squeezes in my chest. This feels right. Our playful banter. Teasing and taunting. Last night was a glitch. A hiccup. We’ll continue on just like this.
Me: Will you bring me back a souvenir?
Win: No.
Me: Pleassssse.
Win: Definitely no now.
Me: Don’t make me beg your brother.
Win: Fine, Cinderelliott, I’ll bring you back a postcard. Happy?
Me: I am now.
I send him a bunch of heart-eyed emojis to drive him crazy. He doesn’t respond so I finish breakfast and then hop in the shower. Once I’m clean and ready for the day, I check for any other messages. I see he’s deposited the money I earned last night and sent me a selfie of him and Perry on what looks like a private jet. Perry is grinning and Winston is scowling, but they both still somehow look just alike.
I send him five hundred through Apple Pay for the selfie and then suggest I’ll send him more if they want to get naked for the next pictures. Give him a taste of his own medicine. My text earns me several middle finger emojis that have me laughing. The next text that comes through, though, isn’t Win.