Page 68 of Prince of the Palisades

I pick at my tacos. They’re not as great as the ones from the pier. The ones I shared with Reiss. I should be with him. Not pretending to care that Léon isn’t receiving the red-carpet treatment he’s accustomed to.

“What has you so distracted?” He points his fork to my hidden phone. “Boytoy drama?”

If I stab him under the table, will the photographers notice?

I bypass my knife for a glass of water, just in case. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say after a sip.

“Please.” He laughs. “The American doesn’t concern me. I’m here as a friend.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” I say, head tilted endearingly when I sense the cameras focused on me.

“Yes,” Léon replies tightly. “This can’t be easy for you.”

“This?”

He manages to sigh and maintain a glinting smile at the same time. “I still have sources on the inside. Gossip travels fast. Royal gossip travels faster. I know you’re not here by choice.”

I make a mental note to interrogate every single palace staffer when I get home.IfI get home. Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s complicated.”

Another breathy laugh. I hate the way the sun makes his deep umber skin glow. How easy his smile comes, like lightning in a storm.

“Mon be—” He stops when I glare. Rolling his eyes, he says, “Jadon, we both know it’s not. You did what you always do. Set the world on fire instead of using your words.”

“I tried to tell—”

He cuts me off. “What I don’t get is why you’re so desperate to go home.”

I pause, eyebrows scrunching. “What?”

“Come on.” He forks around his salad. “You were literally Rapunzel stuck in the tower back on Réverie.”

“I was happy.”

“You weremiserable,” he counters. “Either annoyed or antisocial. Always so desperate to leave. How many times did you sneak out to see me?”

Too many, I almost say. Memories rush my brain: hiding in corners, running down hallways. Following heavy shadows until I hit the gardens, my lungs filled with night air and freedom.

I miss those moments.

“It’s my home,” I tell him. “I know it like the back of my hand. I was okay. Comfortable.”

It’s where I never had to deal with the ashes left behind after one of my incidents.

“Shouldn’t you be more than ‘okay’ in a place you call home?” he asks, his smile a little too sympathetic. “Maybe it’s time for you to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.”

I squint. “What does that mean?”

He lifts one shoulder. Then, in true Léon fashion, he changes the subject. “You look different. It’s the curls. They haven’t been that long since…”

I wait for him to saysince we were fourteen. When we came out. When he kissed me.

Instead, he says, “Get a trim.”

“You first.” I study him over my water glass. A tight ‘fro of tiny curls. Clear complexion. He’s been working out, his muscles filling out his rose blazer and Alexander McQueen T-shirt.

He leans back in his chair, sunlight cutting across his strong jaw. “What’s really going on with you?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Pick around my tacos. I could lie again. Or ignore the question. But this is Léon, and despite where we left things, he still knows me better than anyone who isn’t family or Ajani.

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