Page 92 of My Dark Prince
“No.” I shook my head, shooting up from my seat, pumped enough to wrestle an Olympian. “I mean, I’m actually anactiveenvironmentalist.” Adrenaline buzzed inside my chest. “I go to stand-ins at city halls when they vote to knock down parks and forests. I only use eco-friendly products and write letters to my local representatives.”
Standing Rock. The Climate Strike. Keystone. Berlin.
Hundreds of thousands of people.
Speeches. Chants. Marches.
Music. Poems. Hope.
My heartbeat thrummed between my ears. I swayed, refusing to fight the memories, even as the nausea threatened to topple me.
I clutched the armrest, forcing myself upright. “I … I … I hugtrees.”
A long-suffering sigh sailed past his teeth. “Of course, you do.”
“Do you not like that about me?” I stared at him, dumbfounded. “This is … like, my life mission. I care deeply about the environment.”
Did Oliver think I’d wake up from the coma and become a different person? He had to know how I felt about private jets. Why did he disregard it?
Of course, he had his own agency. I couldn’t expect him not to exercise it because my passions didn’t mesh with his, but I expected him to respect me enough to keep me off private planes.
Fine, with my injury, I understood today. But before the coma … The prospect posed a possibility I couldn’t stomach. That once upon a time, I abandoned my morals for a man. A man who saved me as a child, but a man, nonetheless.
I didn’t remember much about myself, but I knew, without a doubt, that I loathed husbands who ordered their wives around without any regard for their wishes. As far as I was concerned, a marriage built on obedience isn’t a marriage – it’s a prison.
“Any chance you can care deeply about trips to the Italian and French rivieras for shopping sprees?” Oliver began readying for our descent. “Becausethat’sa sustainable habit for us, and that way, I get to keep my aviation hobby. Win-win.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You’re horrible.”
He winked. “Sexy-horrible?”
“Horrible-horrible.”
“Just checking the temperature.” He chewed on his inner cheek, glancing at me.
“Ice cold. And about to become colder, still.”
I never used to be unpleasant for no reason. It wasn’t like I didn’t know the von Bismarcks owned a fleet of jets. Hell, Romeo’s family manufactured them – and fighter jets, and tanks, and probably freaking nuclear weapons.
Hard pills to swallow, but not ones I wouldn’t get used to.
So, why? Why was I so upset?
Because it’s not just the planes,a voice pierced through the headache.It’s the steak he served you. The seafood Dallas offered. The fight he won’t tell you about. It’s the kid you considered your own baby brother – tucked in an abandoned wing of a cold, 20,000-square-foot castle that doesn’t feel like home.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” Oliver ran his tongue over his perfect front teeth. “Stop flying airplanes?”
Yes.
But even I considered the request unreasonable. The real question was, how did the man I love care so little about the world we’d leave behind for our kids. Unless …
My heart skipped a beat. I tried to catch it with a hand to my chest. “Ollie.”
“What now?” he mumbled under his breath. Did we even get along?
“Do we plan on having kids?”
He’d escaped the question the night of the dinner.
