The One (The Selection, #3)(53)

I stepped over and laced an arm behind his back. He did the same to me, and we stood there quietly for a minute, taking it all in. And then something that should have been obvious the whole time suddenly came to me.

“Maxon?”

“Yes?”

“If things were different and you weren’t the prince, and you could pick what you did for a living, would this be it?” I pointed to the collage.

“Taking pictures, you mean?”

“Yes.”

He barely needed a second to think. “Absolutely. For art or even just family portraits. I’d do advertising, pretty much whatever I could. I’m very passionate about it. I think you can see that though.”

“I can.” I smiled, happy with this knowledge.

“Why do you ask?”

“It’s just . . .” I moved to look at him. “You’d be a Five.”

Maxon slowly took in my words, and he smiled quietly. “That makes me happy.”

“Me, too.”

Suddenly, decisively, Maxon faced me, taking my hands in his.

“Say it, America. Please. Tell me you love me, that you want to be mine alone.”

“I can’t be yours alone with all the other girls here.”

“And I can’t send them home until I’m sure of your feelings.”

“And I can’t give you what you want while I know that tomorrow you could be doing this with Kriss.”

“Doing what with Kriss? She’s already seen my room, I told you.”

“Not that. Just pulling her away, making her feel like . . .”

He waited. “How?” he whispered.

“Like she’s the only one who matters. She’s crazy about you. She’s told me so. And I don’t think it’s one-sided.”

He sighed, searching for the words. “I can’t tell you she means nothing. I can tell you that you mean more.”

“How am I supposed to be sure of that if you can’t send her home?”

A devilish smirk came to his face. He moved his lips to my ear. “I can think of a few other ways to show you how you make me feel,” he whispered.

I swallowed, both frightened and hopeful he’d say more. His body was now up against mine, his hand low on my back, holding me to him. The other hand pushed my hair off my neck. I trembled as he ran his open lips over a tiny patch of skin, his breath so very tempting.

It was as if I forgot how to use my limbs. I couldn’t hold on to him or think of how to move. But Maxon took care of that, backing me up a few steps so I was pressed against his collection of pictures.

“I want you, America,” he murmured into my ear. “I want you to be mine alone. And I want to give you everything.” His lips kissed their way across my cheek, stopping at the corner of my mouth. “I want to give you things you didn’t know you wanted. I want”—he breathed into me—“so desperately to—”

A loud knock came at the door.

I was so lost in Maxon’s touch and words and scent that the sound was jarring. We both turned toward the door, but Maxon quickly put his lips back on mine.

“Don’t move. I fully intend to finish this conversation.” He kissed me slowly, then pulled away.

I stood there gasping for air. I told myself this was probably a bad idea, to let him kiss me into a confession. But, I reasoned, if there was ever a way to cave, this was it.

He opened the door, shielding me from the visitor. I ran my hands through my hair, trying to pull myself together.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” someone said. “We’re looking for Lady America, and her maids said she would be with you.”

I wondered how my maids had guessed, but I was pleased they seemed so in tune with me. Maxon’s brow furrowed as he looked toward me and opened the door all the way to allow the guard to walk through. He came in, and his eyes had the air of inspecting me, like he was double-checking. Once he was satisfied, he leaned over Maxon’s shoulder and whispered something.

Maxon’s shoulders slumped, and he brought his hand to his eyes as if he was unable to deal with the news.

“Are you all right?” I asked, not wanting him to suffer alone.

He turned toward me, sympathy in his face. “I’m so sorry, America. I hate to be the one to tell you this. Your father has died.”

I didn’t quite understand the words for a minute. But no matter how I arranged them in my head, they all led to the same unthinkable conclusion.

And then the room tilted, and Maxon’s expression became urgent. The last thing I felt was Maxon’s arms keeping me from hitting the floor.



CHAPTER 23

“—UNDERSTAND. SHE’LL WANT TO VISIT her family.”

“If she does, it can only be for a day at the most. I don’t approve of her, but the people are fond of her, not to mention the Italians. It would be very inconvenient if she died.”

I opened my eyes. I was on my bed, but not under my covers. I saw out of the corner of my eye that Mary was in the room with me.

The shouting voices were muted, and I realized that was because they were just outside my door.

“That won’t be enough. She loved her father dearly; she’ll want time,” Maxon argued.

I heard something like a fist hitting a wall, and Mary and I both jumped at the sound. “Fine,” the king huffed. “Four days. That’s it.”