Maxon was all but pinned to the wall by Celeste’s body. Her free hand was pressed against his chest, and her leg was wrapped around his, the slit of her dress revealing her long leg, tinted slightly blue in the dark of the hall. She pulled back slightly, only to fall back into him slowly, teasing him it seemed.
I kept waiting for him to tell her to get off him, to tell her she wasn’t what he wanted. But he didn’t. Instead he kissed her. She lavished in it and giggled again at his affection. He whispered something in her ear, and Celeste leaned in and kissed him, deeper, harder than before. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder, leaving what seemed like miles of exposed skin down her back. Neither of them bothered to fix it.
I was frozen. I wanted to scream or cry, but my throat felt constricted. Why, of everyone, did it have to be her?
Celeste’s lips slid off Maxon’s and settled onto his neck. She gave another obnoxious giggle and kissed him once more. Maxon closed his eyes and smiled. With Celeste no longer blocking him, I was in Maxon’s line of sight.
I meant to run. I meant to disappear, to evaporate. Instead I stood there.
So when Maxon opened his eyes, he saw me.
As Celeste drew pictures in kisses up and down his neck, Maxon and I merely stared at each other. His smile now gone, Maxon had suddenly turned to stone. The shock in his eyes willed me finally to move. Celeste didn’t notice, so I backed away quietly, not even stirring a breath.
Once I was out of earshot, I broke into a run, blazing past all the guards and butlers working late into the night. The tears started coming before I made it up the main stairway.
I pulled myself up and moved quickly to my room. I pushed past the concerned guard and through the doorway, sitting on my bed facing the balcony. In the quiet stillness of my room, I felt my heart ache. So stupid, America. So stupid.
I’d go home. I’d forget this ever happened. And I’d marry Aspen.
Aspen was the only person I could count on.
It wasn’t long before there was a knock on my door, and Maxon came in without waiting for an answer. He stormed across the room, looking about as angry as I was.
Before he could say a word, I confronted him.
“You lied to me.”
“What? When?”
“When haven’t you been? How could the same person who talked about proposing to me want to be caught dead in a hallway with someone like her?”
“What I do with her has absolutely nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“You’re joking, right? Or because you’re the next king, I suppose it’s acceptable for you to have half-naked girls draped across you whenever you like?”
Maxon looked stricken. “No. That’s not what I think at all.”
“Why her?” I asked, looking to the ceiling. “Why, of anyone on the planet, would you want her?”
When I looked to Maxon for an answer, he was shaking his head and looking around the room.
“Maxon, she’s an actress, a fake. You have to be able to see that under all that makeup, and the push-up bra is nothing but a girl who wants to manipulate you to get what she wants.”
Maxon huffed out a laugh. “Actually, I do.”
I was taken aback by his calm. “Then why—”
But I already had my answer.
He knew. Of course he knew. He’d been raised here. Gregory’s diaries were probably his bedtime stories. I didn’t know why I’d expected otherwise.
How naive had I been? When I kept thinking that there was a better option than me for his princess, I’d been imagining Kriss. She was lovely and patient and a million things that I wasn’t. But I’d been seeing her next to a different Maxon. For the man he would have to be to follow in Gregory Illéa’s footsteps, the only girl here for him was Celeste. No one else would be so content to keep a country under her thumb.
“That’s it,” I said, wiping my hands in front of me. “You wanted a decision, and here it is: I am done with this. I’m done with the Selection, I’m done with all the lies, and I am especially done with you. God, I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“You’re not done, America,” he contradicted me quickly, his stance saying as much as his words. “You’re done when I say you are. You’re upset right now, but you aren’t done.”
I gripped my hair, feeling like I was seconds away from pulling it all out by the roots. “What is wrong with you? Are you delusional? What makes you think that I will ever be okay with what I just saw? I hate that girl. And you were kissing her. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Good God, woman, you never let me get a word in edgewise!”
“What could you possibly say that could explain that away? Just send me home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Our conversation had been going back and forth so quickly that his silence was startling.
“No.”
I was enraged. Wasn’t this exactly what he’d been asking for? “Maxon Schreave, you are nothing but a child who has his hands on a toy that he doesn’t want but can’t stand for someone else to have.”
Quietly, Maxon spoke. “I understand that you’re angry, but—”
I shoved him. “I’m beyond angry!”
Maxon remained calm. “America, do not call me a child. And do not push me.”
I shoved him again. “What are you going to do about it?”
Maxon grabbed my wrists, pinning my arms behind my back, and I saw the anger in his eyes. I was glad it was there. I wanted him to provoke me. I wanted a reason to hurt him. I could tear him to bits right now.
But there was no rage in him. Instead I felt the warm buzz of electricity that had been missing for a long time. Maxon’s face was inches from mine, his eyes searching my own, perhaps wondering how he’d be received, perhaps not caring at all. Though it was all wrong, I still wanted it. My lips parted before I realized what was happening.
I shook my head to clear it and stepped back, moving toward the balcony. He didn’t put up a fight as I pulled away. I took a few steadying breaths before I turned to him.
“Are you going to send me home?” I asked quietly.
Maxon shook his head, either unable or unwilling to speak.
I ripped his bracelet off my wrist and threw it across the room. “Then go,” I whispered.
I turned back to look out my balcony and waited a few heavy moments to hear the click of the door. Once he left, I fell to the floor and sobbed.
He and Celeste were so much alike. Everything about them was a show. And I knew that he would spend the rest of his life sweet-talking the public into thinking he was wonderful, all the while keeping them trapped where they were. Just like Gregory.