Page 446 of Bad Prince
“The dance.”
All the blood drains out of my face.
Not because I don’t understand.
Because I do.
Too quickly.
Too completely.
Because suddenly I’m back there—the lights, the music, the velvet curtains, the ache of wanting him, the humiliation of what came after, the whole beginning of us turning sour in my hands before I even knew how to hold it.
I take one involuntary step back.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
His face changes instantly.
Not frustration.
Not impatience.
Concern.
He closes the distance slowly, like I’m a skittish animal he has no intention of scaring.
“Hey.”
I shake my head once, trying to fight through the rush of nerves.
“Tristan, if this is some kind of nostalgia ambush?—”
“It’s not.”
His voice is low.
Firm.
No humor in it now.
He steps closer until his hands can settle gently around my arms.
“I’m taking you back to the start,” he says. “That’s true. But not to hurt you.”
I look up at him.
His eyes are burning.
Not with lust this time.
Or not only that.
With purpose.
“I’m erasing every bad decision I made the first time,” he says quietly. “This is our do-over, Stell. If you’ll let me have one.”
Something in my chest twists so tightly it almost hurts.
