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He had been patient. The kind of patient that makes a man feel like he's been skinned alive and told to enjoy the breeze. It wasn't even patience, really. It was just inertia. It was like watching a candle burn down to its miserable little wick, waiting for the inevitable moment it snuffs itself out and suffocates in its own wax.
He hadn't even meant to do it. Really, he hadn't. He sat on the couch. The couch in his palace. The couch he hated being alone on.
He stared off, thinking about whatever it was he was always thinking about-something noble, something saintly, something so insufferably self-sacrificing it made him want to punch his past self in the face.
The incident started, like most disasters, with something completely insignificant. A book. White Lily had been devouring it like a starving dog, tearing into it, eating the words like they'd vanish if she so much as blinked. She was late to bed, early to rise, eyes rimmed with exhaustion that wasn't kohl, but the weight of sleeplessness. And he had had enough.
"Lily, go to sleep."
She didn't even look up. "No."
He exhaled slowly. "White Lily." He sat forward, elbows pressed to his knees, "It will still be here tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is too late," she murmured, gripping the book tighter.
It was a simple sentence, but it felt like the worst kind of blow. He ran a hand down his face, trying to keep calm, but he couldn't.
He really, really tried, and she was impossible, and he was done. Done arguing with a woman who looked like she hadn't seen a pillow in years.
He reached for the book. And because Lily was nothing if not contrary, she yanked it back, curling into herself.
"Let it go," he said, grabbing at the spine.
She dodged him, pulling her knees up, shifting sideways to shield it from his grasp. He lunged, not thinking, just moving, and somehow, he lost his balance. His knee hit the couch first, his weight tipping forward as she twisted beneath him, and then suddenly, he hovered over her-straddling her, more or less, his hands still gripping the book as she held it tight to her chest.
"Stop pulling," Lily gasped, her breath coming in short bursts, still holding onto the book.
"Just-give me the book," he said, voice low, hoarse. His breath heaved.
And then she smiled. No, she smirked. Slow, deliberate. Dangerous.
"Make me."
She was impossible. Infuriating. Beautiful. He couldn’t take it anymore.
And listen. Vanilla didn't know what part of his brain short-circuited, but it did.
Because instead of letting go, instead of remembering what planet he was on, he kissed her.
It wasn't graceful. Not even close. It was like drinking from a broken cup. It was something he had no business feeling. She made a soft, surprised noise beneath him, but it wasn't unwilling. She didn't pull away. No, her fingers curled into his hair, pulling him down, her body arching up like she wanted this-wanted him-and he was sinking, sinking, sinking, like a man pulled under a tide he never saw coming. It was all impulse, all heat, all the thin, frayed tension snapping between them.
He couldn't breathe. He should have stopped, but he didn't.
He was too far gone.
And he was so completely fucked.
"Well," a voice echoed off the high walls of the grand chamber. A voice he knew. A voice he wanted to die upon hearing. Hollyberry's unmistakable voice-and it cut through the thick silence of the room.
"This is new."
He had never sobered up so fast in his life.
His heart nearly stopped. He wasn't sure if he could breathe. He was going to die. Right here. Right now. It was all over. He practically leapt off her, like he'd been burned, like if he moved fast enough, he could erase the last thirty seconds of his life. But no. No, of course not. Because standing there, blocking the only exit, was not only Hollyberry, but Golden Cheese, and Dark Cacao, as well. All staring like they'd just walked in on something biblical. Their expressions ranged from mild amusement to barely concealed horror.
Lily was still sprawled out on the couch, book forgotten, dress askew, blinking up at the ceiling like she was reconsidering every single choice that she had ever made.
Vanilla didn't know what he was doing, but he reached for the fabric of her dress, fumbling to pull it back into place. He was being ridiculous. It was too late for modesty.
Golden Cheese raised an eyebrow. "Didn't even make it to the bedroom, huh?"
His stomach sank. He opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Dark Cacao simply sighed. "You should have the couch deep-cleaned."
He wanted to die. Right then and there. Just a quick, painless death. Maybe a heart attack. Something swift.
Golden Cheese smirked. "Burn it."
Lily let out a breath and pushed herself upright, moving slowly, deliberately, like she could somehow rewind time if she just composed herself well enough. She didn't look at him. Didn't look at them, either. Her chin tilted up ever so slightly, a mask of indifference settling over her face as she adjusted the long, satiny gloves covering her arms. First one, then the other, smoothing the fabric with careful precision, like that was the only thing that mattered. Not the way her chest still rose and fell too quickly. Not the way her lips were still parted from-
No. She was above all of this. Above him. Above them. Not really.
"Goodnight," she said coolly, voice steady, poised. But he saw the flicker of something in her eyes-humiliation, fury, the kind of frustration that burned low and deep. She turned on her heel, walking toward the exit with the unhurried grace of a queen leaving a war-torn battlefield, refusing to acknowledge the carnage behind her.
Then, in a move so violent it was almost impressive, Lily grabbed the book-the same damn book that started this whole mess-and chucked it straight at his face.
It hit him square in the chest with a thud, and he didn't even try to catch it.
Just let it fall between them like a body.
And that was the end of it.
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She found him pacing, probably thinking about something completely asinine-something about a diplomatic crisis in the Crème Republic or the rising price of imported sugar. As if any of that mattered. As if she hadn't just kissed him. As if he hadn't kissed her. As if her body hadn't been branded with the shape of his mouth, the heat of his breath, the weight of his hands. He spoke in that slow, measured cadence of his, like a man trying to construct a barrier out of words alone, stacking them high enough to keep reality at bay.
When Lily knocked, his pacing stopped. He turned toward the door, his brows drawn together in something close to concern. "Lily?" he asked, his voice softer than she expected. "Is everything all right?"
She hesitated, just for a moment, then stepped inside.
"I'm sorry," Lily murmured, the words small, hesitant, but familiar on her tongue.
He blinked like he hadn't expected that.
"What for?"
For everything, she almost said. For tonight. For every night before it. For wanting something she shouldn't. For making you want it, too.
Instead, she shook her head. "Never mind."
He didn't push. Of course he didn't. He just exhaled, slow and steady, and let the conversation drift back to something mundane, something safe, something that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he had been between her thighs not an hour ago.
She let him talk. Let him fumble over whatever nonsense he was using to fill the room, to keep himself from thinking too hard about what had happened. It was almost sweet, in a pathetic sort of way.
And then, when Lily had had enough of his self-imposed martyrdom, she moved. Stretched herself out across his bed, languid, like a cat in a warm patch of sun. Her fingers trailed along the embroidered sheets, her body sinking into them, breathing in the scent of him.
He didn't even notice. Of course he didn't. Useless man.
So she made a noise-just the slightest sigh, the kind that could be mistaken for exhaustion if one were stupid enough. His pacing slowed, but he didn't turn yet. She smiled.
Then, softly, deliberately, she murmured, "You really should get a new mattress, Vanilla. This one's much too soft."
He stopped. Went absolutely still. And when he turned, the look on his face was priceless.