Page 606 of Bad Prince
“You know what’s really killing me?”
“What?”
“I’m still more on fire for you than when we were sixteen.”
Her whole face goes soft.
Then dangerous.
Then soft again.
“Good,” she says. “Because I’d hate to have peaked at homecoming.”
I bark out a laugh.
Then kiss her once more, quick and hard and grateful, and take her hand to lead her back inside where our people are waiting.
And as the doors swing open and the noise and candlelight spill over us again, I look down at her wrist one last time.
“You know she’ll absolutely do it,” Stella says softly. “Jade will absolutely commit a crime.”
“She’s been waiting years for an excuse.”
That gets another laugh out of her, lower now, quieter. She looks out over the black water for a second, then back at me, and the smile shifts.
Softens.
Her fingers slide to the open collar of my shirt and rest there.
So I step back just enough to look at her fully.
The sea behind her is black glass.
The night wraps around the terrace in warm dark and flowers and old stone.
She has one hand at her medal, the other still resting on me.
And for one second I just let myself take in the image.
Olympic gold at her throat.
Compass bracelet at her wrist.
The face I have loved in rage and silence and hunger and public daylight and every ordinary morning in between.
Then I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket.
Her eyes drop instantly.
Then rise back to mine.
“Tristan?”
I keep my gaze on hers and pull out the small velvet box.
No speech yet.
No kneeling yet.
