The One (The Selection, #3)(47)

“But no one wants that anymore. People want a choice.” Maxon shook his head. “You’re terrifying to him, but he can’t expel you. They adore you, America.”

I swallowed. “Adore?”

He nodded. “And . . . I feel similarly. So, no matter what he says or does, don’t lose faith. This isn’t over.”

I placed my fingers on my lips, shocked by the news. The Selection would continue, the girls and I still had our chance, and, based on Maxon’s report, the people were approving of me more and more.

But for all the good news, one thing was still pressing on me.

I looked down at the blanket, almost afraid to ask. “I know this will sound stupid . . . but who’s the French king’s daughter?”

Maxon was silent for a moment before he sat down on the bed. “Her name is Daphne. Before the Selection, she was the only girl I really knew.”

“And?”

He huffed out a soundless laugh. “And a little late in the game I discovered her feelings for me went a little bit deeper than friendship. But I didn’t return those feelings. I couldn’t.”

“Was there something wrong with her or—”

“America, no.” Maxon reached for my hand, forcing me to look at him. “Daphne is my friend. That’s all she ever could be. I spent my life waiting for you, for all of you. This was my chance to find a wife, and I’ve known that for as long as I can remember. Romantically, my interactions with Daphne were nonexistent. I’d never have thought to mention her name to you, and I’m certain the only reason Father did was to give you yet another opportunity to doubt yourself.”

I bit my lip. The king knew my weaknesses too well.

“I watch you do it, America. You compare yourself to my mother, to the other Elite, to a version of yourself you think you ought to be, and now you’re about to do the same thing with a person you didn’t know existed until a few hours ago.”

It was true. I was already wondering if she was prettier than me, smarter than me, and if she said Maxon’s name with a ridiculously flirtatious accent.

“America,” he said, cupping my face in his hand. “If she had mattered, I would have told you. The same way you would with me.”

My stomach turned. I hadn’t been completely honest with Maxon. But with his eyes right there, staring so deeply into mine, it was easy to dismiss all that. I could forget about everything surrounding us when he looked at me like that. And so I did.

I fell into Maxon’s arms, holding him tightly. There was no place in the world I wanted to be more.



CHAPTER 21

CELESTE HAD BECOME THE CHAMPION of our newfound sisterhood. It was her idea to drag all our maids and a bunch of big mirrors down to the Women’s Room and essentially spend the day making one another over. There wasn’t much point, seeing as there was no way any of us could do a better job than the palace staff, but it was fun all the same.

Kriss held the ends of my hair across my forehead. “Have you ever considered getting bangs?”

“A couple of times,” I admitted, fluffing the fringe hanging just above my eyes. “But my sister usually ends up annoyed with hers, so I change my mind.”

“I think you’d look cute,” Kriss said enthusiastically. “I cut some for my cousin once. I could do yours if you want.”

“Yeah,” Celeste chimed in. “Let her near your face with scissors, America. Great idea.”

We all burst into laughter. I even noticed a tiny giggle from the other end of the room. I glanced over to see the queen pursing her lips together tightly as she attempted to read the file in front of her. I was worried she’d find all this a bit improper, but, honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her so happy.

“We should take pictures!” Elise said.

“Anyone got a camera?” Celeste asked. “I’m a pro at this.”

“Maxon does!” Kriss shouted. “Come here for a minute,” she said to a maid, waving her over encouragingly.

“Hold on,” I said, grabbing some paper. “Okay, okay. ‘Your Highest of Highnesses, the ladies of the Elite require, immediately, the least fancy of your cameras for . . .’”

Kriss giggled, and Celeste shook her head.

“Oh! A study in feminine diplomacy,” Elise added.

“Is that a real thing?” Kriss asked.

Celeste tossed her hair. “Who cares?”

Maybe twenty minutes later, Maxon knocked on the door and pushed it open an inch. “Can I come in?”

Kriss ran over. “No. We just want the camera.” And she snatched it from his hand and closed the door in his face.

Celeste fell on the floor, laughing.

“What are you doing in there?” he called. But we were all too busy doubling over to answer.

There were lots of poses behind the shrubs and a thousand kisses blown, and Celeste showed us all how to “find the light.”

As Kriss and Elise lay down on the couch and Celeste climbed above them to snap more photos, I looked over and saw the satisfied smile on the queen’s face. It felt wrong that she wasn’t a part of this. I snatched up one of the brushes and walked over to her.

“Hello, Lady America,” she greeted.

“Could I brush your hair?”

Several emotions played across her face, but she only nodded and spoke quietly. “Of course.”