Page 108 of Prince of the Palisades

At Reiss’s suite, I knock twice before cracking the door. I messaged ahead of time. To make sure he was still awake.

The bedside lamp throws golden beams over the room’s rich blues. Across the expensive furniture. Reiss sits in themiddle of the baroque bed, legs crisscrossed. He’s fresh from the shower, shirtless. I swallow as he uses a fluffy gray towel to dry his hair.

He mock-bows, a smirk flitting across his mouth. “Your Royal Arrogance.”

I lean against the door. “Am I keeping you up?”

“Maybe.” The corners of his mouth stretch higher. “I don’t mind.”

Warmth settles in my belly. I want to be near him. Touch him. Find new ways to make his eyes crinkle. But there’s another thought chasing a chill down my spine:

What happens when Papa lets me come home, permanently?

Reiss clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

He’s drumming his fingers on his knees. That nervous tic I recognize. Is he thinking the same thing? That this can’t last?

I motion to the empty spot next to him, my eyes saying,Is that okay?

He nods.

Once I’m on the bed, he stretches his legs across my lap. Our hands find each other, fingers threading together. He chews his lower lip.

I say, “Is this a…bad talk?”

“What? No.” Reiss’s shoulders pull up around his ears. “I mean, I hope not? You said we should talk first. At the coffee shop. If I wanted to—you know.”

It takes five seconds for my brain to recalibrate. I rewind through our conversations and laughs and arguments before—

Oh.That.

My back pressed against a shelf in The Hopper’s backroom.Fingers peeling up his shirt. In the shadows, mouths so close, talking about taking this to the next step.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “I made this weird. Karan warned me. No one talks about sex. It just happens. Talking about it is—”

“Great!” I interrupt, gripping his hand. “Sexy. Necessary.”

His dark eyes stare at me skeptically.

Grinning, I say, “I promise it is. I told you consent is important to me. Communication is too. I don’t want to read things wrong.”

“You’re not.” His cheeks are bruised pink. “I—I want to.”

“Me too.”

He struggles to keep eye contact when he says, “I brought condoms and stuff.” Vaguely, he waves toward his luggage in a corner.

I can’t imagine the personal crisis he suffered through in the checkout line. Léon always took care of that part for us.

Touching his burning cheek, I whisper, “That’s a great start.”

He exhales shakily, eyes still lowered.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” I tell him, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “There’s no rush.”

A sharp noise escapes his throat as I grab the back of his neck. Pull him in. Ease my mouth across his.

He’s the first to deepen the kiss. He yanks my shirt up so quickly, the collar gets caught around my forehead. We’re both laughing when I finally free myself.

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