Page 487 of Bad Prince
“Good,” my mother says. “I’d be more concerned if she were.”
The wind pushes harder against the terrace.
I loosen my grip on the stone railing and let their words settle.
They’re not mocking.
They’re not circling.
They’re not looking for flaws so they can tell me I’ve made a mistake.
They’re impressed.
By Stella.
As herself.
And the stupidest, most childish part of me feels a rush of satisfaction anyway.
My father adds, casual as anything, “Emmanuel Cortez is an interesting detail.”
There it is-the icing.
I should have known it wouldn’t escape them.
I look back toward the table again. Stella has gone quieter now, probably pretending not to watch me while absolutely watching me. Jade is saying something with her hands. Leo is listening with that dry, dangerous half-smile of his.
“She’d still be Stella without him,” I say.
My mother is quiet for one beat.
Then, softer than she usually lets herself sound, “That’s exactly why we’re interested.”
That one gets me.
More than it should.
More than I want.
Because it’s not just approval.
It’s recognition.
They saw the obvious thing—the power, the lineage, the Cortés name—and looked past it fast enough to see the harder thing too.
Her.
My father hums on the line.
“Cortez is useful context. Not the headline.”
“Agreed,” my mother says. “The headline is that she appears to be excellent.”
I laugh once under my breath and shake my head.
“You two are unbelievable.”
“Yes,” my father says. “That does seem to be the consensus.”
