Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, once again! Sorry for such long wait, and for not such a long chapter...Hopefully I'll update sooner this time. We'll see. I've just been crazy busy lately.
Maxon asked me out on a date.
The other night, right after dinner, he pulled me aside. "America, now that you're starting to retrieve some of your memories," Maxon started, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his suit jacket. "I was wondering if we could maybe talk more."
"Yeah, why not?" I replied, not really getting it. "We can talk now, if you want."
"No, Ames," he murmurs, placing a gentle hand over mine. "I was hoping we could maybe . . . I don't know . . go on a, um, date?"
"Oh," I said, shocked. Maxon didn't seem like the kind of guy who went on "dates." But then I remember that he must've gone on hundreds of dates over the course of the Selection, and the idea seemed less foreign. "Yeah, sure. That sounds great." I had hoped he hadn't heard the hesitancy in my voice.
"Wonderful. Saturday at seven?" he had smirked.
"Saturday. Seven. Got it," I had repeated before rushing away.
Now, here I stood, Saturday night, sifting through my closet in absolute horror. "I have nothing to wear!" I cried, throwing my hands up and plopping down on the floor.
"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Lucy smirks from her place on my bed.
"Yeah, America, I don't think you've ever even cared about what you've worn. Ever," Marlee agrees, playing with Lucy's hair. Though I didn't exactly like Lucy at first - especially since she acted very reserved around me - I've grown to like her over the past few weeks. She's friendly and sweet, and has a hidden sense of humor. And I've also gotten over my jealousy for her marriage to Aspen. That's progress, right?
"I know. I usually wouldn't care, I just . . " I sigh, burying my face in my hands. "I want to look good, you know?"
"You always look good, America," Lucy smiles. "And Maxon doesn't care, you know. You've worn sweatpants to dinner and he's still called you beautiful."
"Really?"
"Duh, America! He's in love with you. Of course he thinks you're beautiful," Marlee laughs.
"No, I mean I really wore sweats to dinner? As the queen?" The two girls giggle, and I feel embarrassed once again. I mean, I know I'm not the girly type, but I can't imagine dressing that casually in such a high position of royalty. Maxon must really care about me if he puts up with that. "Oh, god, I'm a wreck, aren't I?"
"Yes, but a wonderful one," Marlee shrugs.
I stand up and carefully flip through my closet again. There are tons of dresses - at least fifty - but none of them seem right. Half of them look familiar - whether from pictures or magazines or videos of the Report - but a lot of them seem new. "What about this one?" I ask, holding up a simple yellow dress I had missed the first time.
"No, you wore that to Maxon's birthday party last year," Lucy informs me. "Too memorable." I wonder briefly why I keep so many dresses if they're all so memorable. I feel like a queen would never wear something twice. Not that I really care . . . it just doesn't seem right.
"Okay, this one?" I say, holding up a lengthy green chiffon dress.
"Christmas party," Marlee murmurs. I roll my eyes and shove the dress back in my closet. She laughs, but then something in her eyes seems to spark. "Oh, I've got just the thing!" Marlee pops off the bed and rushes out of the room. Lucy and I share a confused look, but she's back within a minute, holding a stunning red dress in her arms. "I was saving this for my anniversary with Carter next month, but you can have it."
"Oh, Marlee, I couldn't," I reply automatically, though my first instinct is to grab the dress without hesitation. It's gorgeous, with a simple neckline and tiny lace details.
"Yes, you can," she insists, shoving the dress towards me. "Think of it as a 'I'm-glad-you're-okay-even-if-you-don't-have-your-memory-back gift! Plus, we share clothes all the time."
"But, Marlee, what will you wear?"
She waves me off without missing a beat. "I have a month, America. I'm sure Lilian can make me something else." Lilian is the palace's head seamstress. Mary makes all of my dresses, but Lilian handles all of the other girls' garments - Marlee, Lucy and even May. "Don't worry about it! Just put it on!"
I give her one last unsure look, but she just throws the dress into my hands. I hastily undress, shoving my purple dress from tea this afternoon onto the ground and sliding into the red one. Marlee helps to lace up the back, and Lucy holds my hair as she does so. When I turn around to face them, both of the girls gasp. Lucy is smiling so wide I can't help but grin as well. Marlee's hands are clasped in front of her and I feel like she's about to start jumping up and down. "Oh, America, you look wonderful."
"Just perfect!"
I walk over to the long mirror on the other side of my room and stare at myself in shock. I look . . . beautiful. Queenly. The red compliments my hair perfectly, though I expected it to clash. The neckline is perfect. The cinched waist emphasizes my curves wonderfully. I twirl around, examining the back, and fight the urge to jump up and down myself.
"Okay, you can definitely keep that. I would have looked like a trash bag compared to you," Marlee giggles. "Now, come on, you need to do your hair and makeup. We only have a few minutes before Maxon will be here."
The two quickly sit me down and call for Paige, who arrives in just seconds. She fixes my hair into a loose up-do and paints my face with simple, natural makeup. We chat while she powders my face, talking about stupid, mindless things, and I almost forget my current situation. It feels like I'm at a sleepover with a bunch of friends, just laughing and dressing up and being girls. But then I remember that, no, I'm the amnesiac queen who's preparing for a date with her forgotten husband.
A knock on the door shushes our giggling and my three friends immediately back away from me, giving me space. "Good luck, America!" Marlee calls, herding the girls into the other room, where I'm guessing they'll hide until Maxon takes me away. God, they are crazy.
I open the door and stop when I see him. He's wearing a dark suit that clings to his body, emphasizing his curves. His hair is brushed back, framing his face, making his dark eyes pop against his tan skin. He looks so handsome I have to fight the urge to gasp.
"Wow, America . . . You look . . ." he murmurs, his voice caught in his throat. "Absolutely exquisite," he finishes. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.
"As do you," I nod.
We both stand there for a minute, not speaking, just staring at each other. He's breathtaking, really. All those years of watching the Reports, seeing the young prince grow up, I had never once thought he was handsome. But now, with him right in front of me, his eyes bright and his lips tempting, I can't imagine ever thinking so. "I didn't think you would even care about dressing up for me," Maxon admits, smiling subtly.
"Yeah, well, I guess I'm a bit nervous." I hear a laugh from behind and I glance to the door leading to the connecting room, where my friends are hiding. I roll my eyes and Maxon swallows back a laugh. "I wanted to look good for my first date, you know?"
Maxon smiles a sad, little smile, and I worry I've said something wrong. But then he just takes my hand, kisses it softly, and holds it tightly in his. "My dear, you wore jeans to our first date, if I remember correctly."
"Oh, well," I start, laughing at the image. "I guess things have changed."
"Indeed they have." His hand is still in mine, which feels strangely intimate. I want to curl up into his grasp, wrap myself in his tender hands, fold myself into his loving embrace. "Shall we?" he finally says, unclasping my hand and holding out his bent arm. I link my own arm tenderly through his.
"We shall," I smile as he leads me out of the doorway and down the hall, escorting to me to who-knows-where.
But I don't care where we're going. I'm just happy to finally be going somewhere with him.