Page 67 of My Dark Prince
“Are you okay to go to Geneva yourself?”
I sounded like a grade-A asshole. Like those useless fuckboys girls would complain about in college, who only cared about one thing.
I reminded myself I wasn’t, in fact, a fuckboy. That I would share my entire life with this girl – and soon. That, in a few weeks, we’d be together, in the same college, same town, a breath away from one another. Then, things would finally be normal.
She hopped out of the bed, grabbing her dress. “Yup.”
The dress hung from her fists in tatters, thanks to yours truly. She tried putting it on, but it was slashed where her cleavage was. Cuddlebug winced.
I turned to look at her. “Oh, shit.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved her hand at me, laughing a little. “I’ll use a hotel robe and dash outside to get myself something in the morning. You have a flight to catch.Go.”
“I’m not leaving you without clothes and with blood between your legs.”
I turned to rush toward her, but my phone pinged again.
Dammit, Sebastian.
“No.” Briar Rose started pushing me out the door. “I know how passionate your dad is about the business. Don’t disappoint him. Go. Seriously, I can probably hire someone to fetch me something from one of the stores downstairs. It’s Paris, for crying out loud. It is not short on boutiques.”
“But—”
Cuddlebug forced out another metallic giggle. “Go, Ollie, go.”
She pushed me all the way past the bathroom. I stumbled, putting my shoes on as I advanced to the exit, patting my jacket and pockets to make sure I had my wallet, phone, and passport.
I stopped at the door, cupping her face in both my palms. This was not how I wanted our first time to be. I wanted cuddles, and spooning, and nauseatingly romantic movies.
But there’d be time for all of that.
Soon.
“I love you.” I kissed her. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
She grinned. “See you in a few weeks.”
“Forever starts now,” I promised her.
I didn’t know it back then, but I lied.
Chapter Thirty
Briar
If anythinggoodhad come out of that dinner, it was the fact that Oliver had decided to stop shadowing me. The difference between Pre-Dinner and Post-Dinner was night and day.
Prior to the dinner, Oliver would not let me out of his sight. I’d practically spent each minute climbing the walls of the perfect, lush mansion that didn’t feel like my own.
He followed me everywhere, save for the occasional quick bathroom and shower breaks. He never left me out of his sight. The man was relentless. A mother hen in the making. He made me do puzzles, play Sudoku, drink health shakes every few hours, and accompanied me on long walks along the lake, citing fresh air was “good for the soul.”
He treated me like I was Beth fromLittle Women. About to plotz any second. More fragile than a dry leaf. I insisted I feltfine. I mean, I still had migraines, and my muscles ached from the fall into the pond. Otherwise, the only reason I felt disoriented was because I didn’t remember everything about my life.
Butafterthe dinner, I’d all but chased Oliver into our bedroom, ready to grill him about Sebastian, only to find him passed out on the bed. It didn’t take a detective to know he was faking it.
With a huff, I stormed into the bathroom and tossed my clothes onto every surface, well-aware my self-proclaimed hoarder fiancé hated messes. After my shower, I returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped tight around my chest.
He greeted me with a snore.
