“You’re what?” I press, knowing what she’s going to say, but still having no clue what to do about it.
I care about her, too, but I’m so fucking angry.
I can’t see a path forward from here. I can’t see anything but red.
Her lips part, but after a moment, they shut again. Without another word, she crosses the hay-scattered floor and kneels beside me on the sleeping bag, so close I can smell the Sabrina and rain scent clinging to her skin. She reaches out, taking my hand in both of hers and drawing it onto her lap.
I should pull away, but her touch feels so good, as good as it always has from the day we met. I started falling for her the moment I reached down to help her off the ground by the helicopter, and I’m too far gone now to deny myself her touch. Especially when it might be the last time.
By tomorrow, she’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone, dealing with the fallout from our calamitous engagement without her.
She curls her fingers around my palm on both sides, and whispers, “Tell me how to make it better.”
I hold her gaze, but my mind refuses to take a step down that road. “There is no way to make it better.”
Her lips curve. “Bullshit.”
I smile in spite of myself. “Not your most compelling argument.”
“That first day, when we were talking about why you wanted to be king,” she says, holding tight to my hand. “You said you wanted to serve your country as selflessly as possible. That you knew you’d make mistakes, but that you would learn from them and do better because you wanted to do the most good for the most people.” She runs a thumb back and forth over the back of my hand in a soft caress. “I hope you know that your people will forgive you. If or when you make those mistakes.”
My throat tightens. “Hmm… I’m not so sure about that.”
“Everyone makes mistakes, even kings who love their countries.” She tilts her head. “It’s what’s in your heart when you’re making the mistake that counts. People can tell if you’ve tried your best to serve them or if you’ve screwed up while looking out for number one.” She sniffs, and another shiver works its way through her from head to toe. “And even if we can’t ever be friends or anything more, I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I was trying to make the best of a hard situation. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, especially you. Even when I hated you, I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s not the way I’m made.”
I arch a brow, fighting the urge to draw her into my lap, wrap my arms around her, and warm her up. “You hated me?”
She nods, her lips puckering as they shift to one side. “I did. I judged you on childhood pranks and your cheesy PicsWithFriends account and decided you weren’t nearly good enough for my sister.”
“It’s not cheesy. It’s what the people want.”
“The people want lots of things that aren’t good for them. Like tur-duck-ens. A chicken doesn’t need to stuffed inside a duck and then stuffed inside a turkey, and you don’t need to post pics of your royal bottom online every week.”
“It’s only once or twice a month,” I say, surprised to find the tight feeling in my chest beginning to ease. “And I have a nice bottom. Who am I to deprive the women of the world of this ass?”
She holds my gaze, unflinching. “You’re an intelligent, devoted, compassionate future king who deserves the trust and love of his people. You’re not here to entertain them. You’re here to lead them, and it’s time you started acting like it.”
I search her face. “You really think I’m all of those things?”
“I do,” she promises. “You just need to start thinking of yourself as the kingdom’s daddy instead of its boyfriend.”
My lips quirk, and I can’t help but ask, “Does this mean you secretly want to call me daddy?”
“I’ll call you anything you want if you’ll consider forgiving me,” she says, the emotion in her voice making it impossible to stay angry. The last of the tight heat in my jaw fades away as I reach for her.
“I forgive you,” I whisper, cupping her damp face in my hand.
Her lips part, and her eyes begin to shine. “Really?”
“Really. But I’m still hurt,” I say. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust you again. You know I can’t stand lies.”
“But you were lying, too,” she reminds me as I brush thick ropes of soaked hair from her forehead and over her shoulder. “Is one so much worse than the other? I mean, I’m betting Lizzy and I look a lot more alike than your table manners did before and after you decided to use them to scare away your fiancée.”