Page 87 of That Prince is Mine
Good night.
He was probably just tired. She yawned. So was she. He would probably be more excited for her when she had more to share tomorrow. Whatever the case, Emma needed this. Now more than ever. Focusing on opening up her culinary school might be the only thing that could save her from falling apart after Michel returned to Rouleme. She hoped the kitchen would be perfect for her vision so she could pour what was left of her soul into it when she lost him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Michel caught Jeannie’s eyes, signaling that he was ready to leave the lecture hall. The enthusiasm of his students wasn’t enough to distract him from his bleak mood today.
“All right, people.” She clapped her hands to get their attention. When that didn’t work, she brought her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly enough to make his ears ring. “Please let the professor through. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have. Or you could save them for his office hour.”
Nodding his thanks to his TA, Michel slipped out through the back door and away from the clamor of questions. Ever since Emma texted him last night, he’d been running away from questions of his own. He couldn’t ignore them any longer.
Why had he been so shocked that she was continuing to pursue opening up a culinary school? It was her dream, after all. But he’d hoped—even though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until now—that she might be thinking about coming to Rouleme with him. Had the thought never crossed her mind? Was she so ready to be done with him?
Perhaps he should have expounded on the merits of his country more. Should he have been more blatant about his wish to have her come back with him? He’d been so preoccupied with not scaring her away, he might not have expressed how much he wanted to be with her.
From the beginning, she’d incorrectly assumed that he only wanted a brief fling. But hadn’t everything they had shared in the last month shown her that a fling was the last thing he wanted? How could she not see that he wanted forever with her? Because you didn’t tell her. You didn’t give her the words.
He lengthened his strides toward his office, barely noticing the curious gazes of students as he stormed past them. He was grateful that Sophie kept her distance, knowing him well enough to see that he needed space.
Michel slammed his office door behind him and leaned his head against it. He felt like a goddamn prince in a fairy tale—forbidden from revealing his love for the fair maiden until she broke the curse by falling in love with him. He couldn’t ask Emma to come to Rouleme with him—he wouldn’t ask her to sacrifice so much. That would be too selfish, and love should never be selfish, right? But if she wanted to come with him, then who was he to deny her? He huffed a humorless laugh. And there was the loophole out of this cruel joke of a situation. Michel hated that he’d thought of a loophole. He was no better than the politicians circling him like vultures.
He dragged a hand down his face and pushed himself away from the door. He hated that a part of him wanted to manipulate Emma into offering to come to Rouleme with him—how he’d calculated that if she believed it was her idea, then she couldn’t resent him for it later. It was quite possibly the most despicable thought he’d ever had.
Michel slumped into one of the guest chairs and let his head loll back. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his eyelids in a futile effort to forestall the headache building behind them. His heart clenched with the phantom pain of losing Emma. He pushed himself upright. No. Losing her wasn’t an option. He would be selfish—he would be despicable—if it meant he could have her in his life.
Someone knocked, then opened the door without waiting for a response. Michel had a good guess who it was.
“Hello, Gabriel.” He waved without bothering to turn around. “I’m a selfish, greedy cad.”
“I can’t believe you started wallowing in self-pity without me.” His cousin dropped into the other guest chair.
“You won’t have trouble catching up.” Michel smirked despite his turmoil. “I believe in you.”
“Why, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Gabriel opened his messenger bag and rummaged around in it until a bottle of bourbon emerged. He held it up triumphantly.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Michel objected half-heartedly.
“And we’re two distinguished professors at our place of work,” Gabriel pointed out while pouring bourbon into two mugs. “This kind of conduct would be frowned upon. With good reason.”
Michel accepted his mug and clinked it with his cousin’s. “Welcome to the shit show.”
“Language, Your Highness.” Gabriel tilted back his drink and grimaced at the bitter heat. “Now then. Tell me what troubles you.”
“I’m in love with Emma,” he said miserably.
His cousin looked dashing even with a duh expression on his face. “Should I pretend to be shocked?”
“I love her too much to ask her to marry me.” Michel waved his mug in the air for a refill. “But I’m a horrible human being because I still want to marry her even if it means she has to sacrifice everything for me.”
“Ah.” Gabriel poured him a generous amount and topped off his own drink. “That is a more complex dilemma. In fact, it is a profound philosophical question.”
“Please.” Michel grabbed the bottle from the table, as he’d already emptied his mug. “I need my cousin. Not the Sphinx.”
“Fine. Be a superficial arsehole,” his cousin said with a wry curl of his lips.
“As opposed to what?” He snickered and sloshed bourbon on his hand. “A deep ars—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.” Gabriel snatched the bottle from him. “And slow down. Since when have you been such a lightweight?”
