Page 135 of Endgame
I climb into bed, facing my sleeping wife.
Watching her. Admiring her, against all logic. Against my will.
I long for her.
Stafford was the one who called me out on it first. Two years ago, at one of those Royalty gatherings. He saw what I couldn’t.
Every year since my parents died, in the same month, Aurora would show up at the Royalty’s mansion.
And every year, she’d keep to herself. Quiet, guarded, throwing glances that were more suspicious and scornful than anything else.
I’d seen her before. But that year was the second time I really looked at her. Noticed how fucking beautiful she was, that twenty-year-old woman.
The pull to her made me want to scream.
It put a crack in my revenge plans. The lines were blurred.
I denied it. Of course I fucking did.
My friend wouldn’t let me.
“You should go talk to her,” Stafford said, low beside me, sipping that damn sparkling water. “She seems…different.”
“I will. Eventually,” I said, hardly able to tear my gaze away from her silver dress, her curves, those cold blue eyes.
That iciness in her. The underlying loathing. What brought it there?
None of it made sense.
The Clarkes gave her everything. She didn’t lose what I had.
She wasn’t allowed to be angry.
I wasn’t allowed to like her.
“When I take her against her will.” My gaze cut to Stafford’s. “I’m not her friend. I’ll never be.”
He sighed. “I didn’t mean as her friend.”
I understood damn well what he’d meant.
Still, I wasn’t going to flirt with her. Fall in love with her.
I didn’t need that.
I don’t.
My hand remains as insistent as it was a second ago. It rests on Aurora’s hip.
At night, it’s easier to let go. To give in.
I move closer to her. So close that if I shift her like that, her lips rest on my shoulder.
Her shallow breath lights my skin on fire.
There’s no denying what’s going on here. There really isn’t.
Aurora has made a home for herself inside my heart. The organ I believed was lost for good.
