Page 602 of Bad Prince
That makes her eyes change.
Softer.
Darker.
Warmer.
She looks down at her wrist then, at the bracelet, and touches the little compass rose with the pad of her thumb.
And the thing is, that bracelet was never really about Newport.
Not entirely.
It was about direction.
About what I should have known the first time I froze under bright lights and let a girl like her walk away believing the wrong thing about me.
I lift her wrist between us and press my mouth to the inside of it, right over the charm.
She inhales sharply.
“You’re still my north,” I murmur against her skin.
Her eyes close for one brief second.
When they open again, they shine.
“That is still an insane thing to say to a person.”
“Still true.”
That gets the smallest smile.
The one I like best.
Not the bright public one.
Not the athletic one she gives cameras and press lines and people who need reassurance that greatness can also be gracious.
The one that only exists when it’s just me and her and enough quiet to let honesty breathe.
I let her wrist go.
My hand slides to her cheek.
“Do you know what killed me today?”
She lifts one brow.
“The possibility I wouldn’t win?”
“Not even close.”
Her smile widens a fraction.
I step in closer until her back meets the stone and the medal presses cool between us.
“It wasn’t seeing you win,” I say. “I always knew you could do that.”
