Page 499 of Bad Prince
Stella, astonishingly calm now, says, “That’s the plan.”
I think I fall in love with her a little harder in that exact second.
If that’s even possible.
The drive back to the private terminal is quieter. Stella sits tucked into the corner of the backseat with one leg folded under her and her hand in mine.
For the first few minutes she just looks out the window at Newport slipping past in dark stone and gold light.
Then she turns to me and says, “That was not what I expected.”
I smile.
“Good or bad?”
She thinks about it.
“Devastatingly good.”
That answer gets me.
I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles once.
“Told you.”
She narrows her eyes.
“You are not allowed to act smug after that.”
“I’m not acting.”
That makes her laugh under her breath.
Then, quieter, she says, “Your mother actually liked me.”
“My mother called you excellent. Which is borderline operatic praise.”
Stella leans her head back against the seat and exhales.
“I need like three business days to process this weekend.”
“Denied.”
“Rude.”
“We have practice Monday.”
She groans.
“I know.”
And there it is.
The end of the dream pressing in from the edges.
Not because what happened gets smaller when we leave Newport.
Because reality resumes its usual ugly speed.
