Cards of Love: The Devil (Devil's Playground #1)(10)

While all the other boys I grew up with were interested in sports and parties, I was interested in student council and the debate team, trying to make a difference and put my mark on the world.

My father, who ruled with an iron fist, both figuratively and physically; had my future political career mapped out since I was a child. It was the only thing we ever agreed on.

“I don’t think a relationship works well when one has to sacrifice an integral part of who they are to make the other happy.” I cradle both her cheeks. “Besides, do you really want to be kept hidden away for the rest of your life? That’s no way to live, Eden.”

“What if that’s exactly what I want?”

“You only want it because it’s all you’ve ever known.” I run my thumb over her cheekbone. “There’s a whole big world out there for you to discover. So many experiences waiting for you.”

“I don’t want the world,” she whispers and the muscles in my chest draw tight. “I only want you. All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

Christ, this girl. She has a way of looking at me like I’m personally responsible for making the sun rise and set every day.

She has a way of making me feel like I’m her God. And fuck if there’s not a small part of me that doesn’t revel in it.

“You never wished me happy birthday.”

The change of subject throws me and I check my watch. “Technically your birthday isn’t for another ten minutes.” I wink. “I’m not that old. I still have a few more years before senility sets in.”

She starts to laugh, but a scowl twists her features. “Too bad the stupid masquerade ball is tomorrow night.”

“I know.”

It’s always the Saturday before Halloween. Normally I’d skip it because balls aren’t really my thing, but it’s eleven days before the election. Which means I have no choice but to show up. The two weeks before an election is the most crucial and it’s just one of the many appearances I have lined up.

Eden tilts her head to the side, studying me intently. I should probably tell her about Margaret since we’re on the subject…but I don’t have the heart to break hers when her birthday is mere minutes away and she’s already so upset.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you skipping it?” She looks so hopeful it kills me. “We could watch movies, or—”

“I can’t.” When her face falls, I add, “But you could go.”

I know it’s a long shot given all her struggles, but I’m hoping she’ll give it some real thought before turning me down.

Besides, there’s no reason Eden shouldn’t go if she wants to. It’s not like I’m planning on screwing Margaret in public tomorrow night.

And even if that were the case, it wouldn’t matter. The second Eden walks through those doors, she’ll be surrounded by guys. Guys her own age who would undoubtedly do anything for her attention.

Jealousy hits me like a fist to the gut, but I shake it off with a roll of my shoulders. I have no right to be jealous. She’s my forbidden fruit.

Therefore, she deserves to find someone who can give her all the things I can’t.

Pride fills me when I peer down at her. The adorable look of concentration on her face tells me she’s actually considering it. This is a huge step in the right direction.

“I don’t have a dress.”

“Use my credit card and buy one.”

She chews her bottom lip, contemplating. “It’s too late to order express shipping online.”

“You can go shopping for a dress in the morning.” When she winces, I say, “Or I can send Claudia to the store to pick one out for you.”

Claudia is my campaign manager and personal assistant.

“Claudia’s seventy-three,” Eden grumbles. “She’ll end up picking out some psychedelic flower-child frock that will make people talk about me even more.”

Eden has a point. Claudia is great at what she does—but she’s also a self-proclaimed hippie with very questionable fashion choices.

“Write down what you want. Color, size…girl shit.”

The corners of her lips turn up. “Girl shit?”

I shrug helplessly because I’m clearly out of my element and she giggles. “Okay, fine. I’ll write down my girl shit.”

For a second I think I misheard her, but sure enough; she’s picking up a pen and pad off her nightstand.

Only to place them back down a moment later. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m so sorry.”

Her shaking hands and tear-stained cheeks chip away at the barrier I put up between us.

Crossing a boundary I know I shouldn’t, I pull her into my arms. “Don’t be sorry. They have one every year.” I tip her chin. “You’ll go to one when you’re ready.”

She sniffs. “What if I can’t?”

“You will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because there are two types of people in this world. Those who are capable of greatness, but don’t bother trying. And those who still try even though they’re not capable of greatness.”

Her face screws up. “I do—”

“You’re neither.” I wipe her tears away with my thumbs. “You’re the type of girl who can do anything she sets her mind to and succeed.”