Page 33 of Wicked Prince

I can't help but smile, though, bringing my fingertips to brush over my lips. They still tingle, like there's some magic in those stolen kisses that defies logic.

I finish up my food and decide to take care of the dishes since he cooked and everything. He’d just better not get used to it.

What I realize I've mentally made the jump to thinking this is going to be more than a one-time thing, I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. This is exactly what I was afraid of happening, and yet…

I have to admit, I'm too curious to do the smart thing and walk out the door for good. It's not just my curiosity, either. If I'm being honest with myself, I enjoy Lorenzo's company.

I'm still contemplating what I'm going to say when he gets back, since I'm sure the Inquisition will continue. Maybe it's just proof once and for all that I really have lost my mind, or maybe I really am just that easily mystified by some good dick, but there's part of me that's actually considering whether or not I want to tell him the truth.

I settle on the couch, turning on my phone to see a few missed calls from Dad, but there are no voicemails or texts, so I brush it off. When my phone rings and I see that it's Dad again, my good mood immediately turns sour.

He probably found out about my fight with Kayleigh. Or the confrontation in the bathroom. Either way, I'm sure he's not just calling to chat and see how school is going.

I turn off the ringer and ignore it, deciding instead to respond to the text message Anthony sent me this morning asking how things went.

That son of a bitch knew I would end up staying over. He isn't even bothering to pretend otherwise.

Before I can finish typing out a message telling him exactly what I think about his assumption, however accurate it is, the phone rings again.

It occurs to me this is probably the most Dad has ever called me, which is at once depressing and infuriating. He's clearly not going to stop, and I would really rather him not send the cavalry out looking for me, since they probably could trace me to Lorenzo's place if they really tried.

I answer the phone, deciding I might as well find out what he wants if he's going to harass me all day. "Yeah?" I ask, unable to be bothered mustering any more enthusiasm than that.

"Where have you been?" he demands right out of the gate. No hello, no how are you, no anything resembling a normal human interaction.

I feel a twinge of irritation, mostly because I'm sure he isn't asking because he actually cares. It’s because he thinks the entire world, myself included, should be at his beck and call.

"I slept in. You know, that thing college students tend to do?"

I fully expect him to berate me for mouthing off, but I'm not in the mood to tiptoe around his feelings. He wants to pretend like I don't exist, fine. He wants me to magically be available when hedoesfeel like acknowledging my existence?

That's a hell no.

He pauses, but when he finally speaks, his voice is surprisingly pleasant. For him. "I called to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. I know it's a school night, but it's a special occasion, and I'd like to have you there."

"A special occasion?" I ask doubtfully. "What does it matter if your ‘niece’ is there or not?"

I know I'm being unnecessarily difficult—in his eyes, at any rate—but I can't help but wonder. He barely even wanted me to be there to meet my stepmother and sister for the first time.

He heaves an exasperated sigh, but he really must be in a good mood if he's not snapping at me for my insubordination. "As a matter of fact, I'll be introducing you as my daughter."

I blink. That definitely takes me by surprise. I can't help but blurt out the first question on my mind, which is, "Why?"

I can practically hear him frowning through the phone. "Because our guests are intimately acquainted with the family. Or they will be, at any rate."

I blink again in abject confusion. If he's trying to pique my curiosity, he certainly succeeded. "How so?"

"It's Kayleigh's boyfriend and his family," Dad answers. "They're coming over to discuss a potential cooperation between the families, and part of that is transparency, so everyone should be there."

There it is. The reason. Now it actually makes sense.

I'm not even sure I'm capable of being hurt by the strategic approach he takes toward life, in which I'm just another piece on the board. It's not like being upset is going to change anything. "In other words, you don't want your new allies to find out about your dirty little secret."

"Amelia—"

"Am I wrong?" I challenge.

My question is met with more silence. When he speaks again, his voice is gruff with barely contained frustration, but I have to admit, I'm surprised he's bothering to contain it at all.

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