Maxon's POV

It has been a week since the other Elite left and Clancy's threat. But honestly, I was more angry than scared. How dare he bully me when he's already out of the competition?

I realize I've been staring at America for maybe a solid minute, with my spoon dangling from my fingertips. She smiles and tugs her ear. I haven't talked to her since my father died. She's been busy with meetings and other royal duties; maybe duties that will end up being mine. Frankly, I haven't made much effort to meet with her. I just didn't feel like seeing her when something like my father and Clancy happened.

I gulp down the entirety of my dinner and rush to my room. About three minutes later, America walks through the door, a flush creeping up her neck. She brushes imaginary dust off her satin dress.

"Hi," she says, closing the door behind her.

I don't know—maybe it's because I haven't talked to her in what seems like forever, or maybe it's the way she looks almost bashful to see me—but I encase her in my arms, loving the way she's so warm and delicate against me.

"Oh!" America gasps, but she wraps her arms around me.

"Hi," I say, kissing the top of her head.

She pulls back to look at me, smirking, but the blush on her cheeks betrays her act of trying to be cool. "Did someone miss me?"

"I did," I admit, kissing the tip of her nose. "I did miss you."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I just didn't have enough time, what with the eliminations, meetings and all."

I smile. "I completely understand."

She returns my grin. "I feel like I haven't been here forever."

I shrug. "I added some stuff." I nod my head to the wall of my room, a fourth of it covered in a collage of pictures that I've taken before and after arriving at the palace. I brought my camera from the very beginning, but I felt like it should have been something I kept to myself, until America, that is.

America's eyes widen in what looks like astonishment and awe. "Maxon," she says, almost whispering. "It's beautiful." She walks to the wall, observing the photographs.

I shove my hands in my pockets, running a hand through my hair. Seeing her look at something I've done is like seeing a rainbow form before my very eyes.

"You like it?" I ask.

"I'm in awe of it. How many of these did you take?"

"Nearly all of them, but ones like this," I say, lifting a corner of a magazine clipping of when we had that photo shoot, "I asked for." It's the one where America's laughing at me while I stick my tongue out. I have the more professional pictures too, but this one stuck out to me. I point to another one. "I took this one in the very southern part of Honduragua. I used to think it was interesting, but now it makes me sad."

I can almost smell the black smoke and soot drifting out of the factory pipes. "I used to look at the air, but now I remember how much I hated the smell of it. And people live in that all the time. I was so self-absorbed."

I still think I am. If I end up being prince or going back home as a Two, either way I'm doing something about these factories. I'm planning to maybe make a change in the country as a politician, if not a sovereign. My father had power, but he abused it and used it for himself.

"Where is this?" she asks, pointing to the picture of a long brick wall.

"New Asia. It used to be to the north of what was the Chinese border. They called it the Great Wall. I hear it was once quite spectacular, but now it's mostly gone. It runs less than halfway through the middle of New Asia. That's how much they've expanded."

"Wow." She continues looking at each photograph.

"The one I have at home is bigger," I say. "It covers nearly the entire wall." She laughs when she sees the one from the photo shoot, and I smile alongside her. "I was really hoping you would like it."

"I do. So much. I want you to make me one."

"You do?"

"Yes. Or teach me to. I have enough pictures from magazines and newspapers, but not like these." She sees one I took from about a month ago. America's elbows are on the balcony railing, and she looks up at the sky like she's making a wish. "These are candid. They're actually...real."

I never thought of her life as being fake. She laces an arm behind my back, and I do the same to her. We stand there for a minute as she takes it all in. I wish I could show her the one at my house. It's so much larger in comparison, but this will have to do.

Suddenly, decisively, I turn to her, taking her hands in mine.

"Say it, America. Please. Tell me you love me." At the moment, I don't even care if she loves Aspen. All that matters is that I hear the actual words from her mouth.

"I can't with Aspen still here. I want to do that too, but it's too impossible. Besides, I can't send either of you home until I'm sure of both of your feelings."

"Then I can't give you what you want while I know that tomorrow you could be doing this with Aspen."

She can't argue that one. Its possibility is still too high for her to disagree.

"I can't tell you that Aspen means nothing. You both mean a lot to me."

"Who means more to you?"


America's POV

I hate to be arguing again, and I can sense that he feels the same way.

A devilish smirk appears on his face. He moves his lips to my ear, and suddenly I'm not capable of breathing. "I can think of a few ways to convince you," he whispers.

I swallow, both frightened and hopeful that he'll say more. His hand, low on my back, holds me to him, and my body is against his. I'm sure he can feel my heart thudding against his chest. His other hand pushes my hair off my neck. I tremble as he runs his open lips over a tiny patch of skin, his breath so very tempting.

It's as if I forget how to use my limbs. I can't hold on to him or think of how to move. Every thought scatters like molecules in thin air. But Maxon takes care of my immobility, backing me up a few steps so I'm pressed against his collection of pictures.

"I want you, America," he murmurs into my ear, his lips brushing it by a hair. "I want you to be mine alone. And I want to give you everything." His lips kiss 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 breathes into me—"so desperately to—"

A loud knock comes at the door.

The sounds jars me from Maxon's touch and words and scent. We both turn toward the door, but Maxon quickly put his lips back on mine.

"Don't move," he says slowly. "I fully intend to finish this conversation." He kisses me slowly, then pulls away.

Never has a boy made me feel so breathless and incapable of doing things I've known how to do since I was born. This is probably a bad idea, to let him kiss me into confession, because I do love him, and he probably knows it.

He opens the door, shielding me from the visitor. I run my hands through my hair. How will I ever explain this to my maids? I end up pulling the few pins out of my hair, trying to pull myself together.

"Hey, Maxon," a man's voice says.

Shit.

"Aspen," Maxon says, sounding almost winded.

"Schreave, have you been running a marathon? You sound like you—"

"Leger, I'm sorry, but now's not a good time," he says, his brows furrowing.

"Oh, I apologize."

Maxon stands there for a moment, not really knowing what to say. "Um, bye."

"Bye."

Maxon closes the door, and he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry," he says. As much as I want to continue what we were doing, it's so very clear that the mood is diffused and gone.

"I guess I should go," I say numbly. He looks disappointed, his eyes downcast. I walk to him and give him one slow kiss, trying to gather my thoughts so I wouldn't lose myself again. "Good night, Maxon."

"Good night, America."


I apologize for not being able to reply to reviews, but I hope this satisfied the Maxerica hearts. I'm so sorry if anything's messed up; I tried my best at midnight. However, there will be some exciting news hopefully tomorrow (that is, if you're a fan of me and some other people but more on that.) Thank you so, so much for the reviews!

Love ya!- AcademicGirl