Maxon races back towards the palace, dragging me with him, nodding to the guards inside the garden doors.
"Maxon, wait!" I cry breathlessly, tripping over my skirts and heels. "I can't keep up!"
He looks at me, slightly irritated. He slows to my pace, but I know he wants to speed up.
When we finally reach a corridor on the third floor, Maxon slows to stop and faces me, breathing heavily. "What I'm about to show you," he says quietly, "is only known by a few people- my parents, and some very close advisors."
I must look bewildered because there is nothing in this hallway.
Maxon's lips quirk up into a smile. "No one, America."
"Got it," I say, miming zipping my lips shut. Maxon truly smiles at that. He looks around quickly again, making sure no one is around. He flips a switch on the side of a painting that takes up an entire wall. The painting swings forward, revealing a small door, raised about a foot and a half off the ground.
"What?" I gasp, completely shocked. That is not what I was expecting.
Maxon laughs as he punches several numbers into a keypad next to the door, and deftly steps up the ledge into the room behind. "Come on, darling," he says with a sweet smile, and warmth blooms through my chest. "Let me help you up." He holds out his hands.
I take them, and as I push myself up to the ledge, relying mostly on Maxon's strength, my heel catches on something, causing me to trip and push Maxon onto the floor, me on top, and we slide backwards into the room. The door closes behind us, and both Maxon and I are silent for a moment as I lay on top of him.
I start to giggle, just as Maxon starts to chortle, and soon we are in full hysterics. I roll off onto the floor next to him, clutching my stomach as peals of laughter escape from me uncontrollably. Once we finish laughing, Maxon rolls onto his side, gazing at me and placing his hand on my cheek. I'm home, I think, not even really registering the thought.
He leans down and kisses me, softly at first, then more intensely, clutching at my sides. I grab his biceps, pulling him closer. He holds me tight and I can't get enough, kissing him with more abandon than I ever have. As his hands stray lower down my back, I gasp, and he takes that as an invitation to slip his tongue into my mouth.
I can feel his hesitancy, his uncertainty about whether this is something I'm okay with or not. I let my tongue meet his, and he moans, twisting his hands into my hair. I've felt this… feeling before, with Aspen, but never- never- like this. With Aspen, it was something I wanted. Now, though, now, it's something I need. I need Maxon more than I need air right now. I press my hips to his, and we both freeze. He lifts his arm to look at his watch.
"Darling," he says, his voice sounding hoarse. "I need to go, and we need to stop."
I scramble out from under him, completely mortified by what just happened. I look at him with wide eyes as I try to melt into the wall.
Maxon stands up and straightens his clothes, running his hand through his hair. I suddenly think of mine, and desperately try to straighten it. Maxon laughs a little and walks over to me, combing a few strands into place.
"There," he says, kissing my forehead. "You're perfect. Not that you aren't always, but I can see how your hair looking like it did could present problems."
I groan. "I'm sor-"
"Shh," Maxon says. "I'm really the one that started it."
"Yes, but if I weren't so clumsy-"
"America," he says, slightly exasperated. He leans his forehead on mine. "Stop. We didn't do anything wrong. We almost did something illegal, but even then I don't think that I could say it's wrong." He kisses me softly one more time, then pulls back.
"Come on, let's go."
He helps me out of the room, and I'm almost sad that I didn't get to see what was in it.
"It's a secret library," he whispers. "Banned books and the like, even some of Gregory Illéa's personal diaries. I'm not entirely sorry that we didn't figure out what Halloween is, but I can go back and find out later, then report back to you."
"Yes, sir," I tease him as he guides me towards my room.
We walk in companionable silence until we reach my door, and he kisses me again.
"Well," I laugh. "Someone is eager today."
Maxon smiles. "I simply can't keep my hands off you, my dear."
I roll my eyes and walk back to my desk. "You must, good sir. For I am but a gentle maiden, and I cannot afford for my reputation to be drawn into question," I say formally with a curtsy.
Maxon laughs long and loud at this. "My love, I can assure you that should your reputation be compromised, even your most impressive suitor would not find a complaint with you," he winks.
I laugh. "Okay, go back to your fun with your advisors. I have to get through this stupid military report," I say.
"Yes, dear," Maxon says sarcastically, kissing my forehead again. Geez, what is up with him today? He's not usually this affectionate. "See you at dinner," he says, walking out the door.
I flop onto my bed and cover my face, both dreading dinner tonight and incredibly excited by it.
~PtG~
"I'm hopeless!" Marlee complains.
"No, no, you're doing great," I lie.
I've been giving Marlee piano lessons nearly every day for more than a week, and it genuinely sounded like she was getting worse. For goodness' sake, we are still working on scales. She hit another sour note, and I can't help but wince.
"Oh, look at your face!" she exclaims. "I'm terrible. I might as well be playing with my elbows."
"We should try that. Maybe your elbows are more accurate."
She sighs. "I give up. Sorry, America, you've been so patient, but I hate hearing myself play. It sounds like the piano is sick."
"More like it's dying, actually."
Marlee collapses into laughter, and I join her. Little did I know that when she'd asked for piano lessons, my ears would be in for such painful- but hilarious- torture.
"Maybe you'd be better at the violin? Violins make very beautiful music," I offer.
"I don't think so. With my luck, I'd destroy it." Marlee rises and goes over to my little table, where the papers we are supposed to be reading are pushed to one side to make room for the tea and cookies Anne had left for us.
"Oh, well, that's fine. The one here belongs to the palace anyway. You could throw it at Celeste's head if you wanted."
"Don't tempt me," she says, pouring us both some tea. "I'm so going to miss you, America. I don't know what I'll do when we don't get to see each other every day."
"Well, I imagine we'll be here for a while yet, so you don't have to worry about it too much," I say hesitantly.
"I don't know," she says, suddenly turning serious. "He hasn't come right out and said it, but I think I'm just here because the public likes me. Once their opinion changes, he'll probably let me go."
I want to probe, wondering what has prompted her to put so much distance between her and Maxon, but I don't want her to shut down on me.
"Are you okay with that? With not getting Maxon, I mean?"
She shrugs a little. "He's just not the one. I'm fine with being out of the competition, but I really don't want to leave," she clarifies. "Besides, I wouldn't want to end up with a man who's in love with someone else."
I sit bolt upright. "Who is he-"
The look in Marlee's eyes is triumphant, and the smile hiding behind her cup of tea says Gotcha!
In a split second, I realize that the thought of Maxon being in love with someone else made me so jealous I can't stand it. And the moment after that- the understanding that she meant me- was infinitely reassuring.
I'd put up wall after wall, making jokes at Maxon's expense and talking up the merits of the other girls; but in a single sentence, Marlee found her way through all that.
"Why haven't you ended this, America?" Marlee asks, almost seeming annoyed, but the gleam in her eye remains. "You know he loves you."
"He has never said that," I protest. He technically hasn't.
"Of course not," Marlee says exasperatedly, as if it's obvious. "He's trying so hard to catch you, and every time he gets close you push him away. Why do you do that?"
Can I tell her? Can I confess that while my feelings for Maxon go deep- deeper than I knew, apparently- there is someone that I just can't let go of?
"I'm just… not sure, I guess." I trust Marlee; I really do. But it is safer for us both if she doesn't know.
She nods. It looks like she can tell that there is more to it than that, but she doesn't press me. It is almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of our secrets.
"Find a way to be sure. Soon. Just because he's not the one for me doesn't mean that he's not a great guy. I'd hate for you to lose him because you were afraid."
She is right again. I am afraid. Afraid that Maxon's feelings aren't as genuine as they seem, afraid of what being a princess might mean for me, afraid of losing Aspen.
"On a lighter note," she says, setting down her cup of tea, "all that talk of weddings yesterday made me think of something."
"Yes?"
"Would you want to, you know, be my maid of honor? If I get married someday?"
"Oh, Marlee, of course I would! Would you be mine?" I reach out to grab her hands, and she takes them happily.
"But you have sisters, won't they mind?"
"They'll understand. Please?"
"Absolutely! I wouldn't miss your wedding for the world." Her tone implies that my wedding would be the event of the century.
"Promise me that even if I get married to a nobody Eight in an alley somewhere, you'll be there."
She gives me a disbelieving look, positive that no such thing could ever happen. "Even if that's the case. I promise."
She doesn't ask me to make a similar vow for her, which makes me wonder, as I had in the past, if there is another Four back home who she has her heart set on. I won't press her though. It is clear that we both have secrets; but Marlee is my best friend, and I will do anything for her.
~PtG~
That night, I'm hoping to spend some time with Maxon. Marlee has me questioning a lot of my actions. And thoughts. And feelings.
After dinner, as we all stand to leave the Dining Room, I catch Maxon's eye and tug my ear. It is a secret sign to ask for time together, and it is rare to pass up an invitation. But tonight Maxon's expression is disappointed as he mouths the word "work" to me. I give him a mock pout and a tiny wave before leaving for the night.
Perhaps it is for the best anyway. I really need to think on some things where Maxon is concerned.
When I round the corner to my room , Aspen is there again, standing guard. He looks me up and down, taking in the snug green dress that does amazing things for the few curves I have. Without a word, I walk past him. Before I can turn the handle on my door, he gently grazes the skin on my arm.
It is slow but brief, and in those few seconds I feel that need, that sense of longing, that Aspen tends to inspire in me. One look at his emerald eyes, hungry and deep, and I feel my knees start to go shaky.
I move into the room as quickly as I can, tortured by our connection. Thank goodness I barely have time to think about what Aspen makes me feel, because the moment the door shuts, my maids swarm around me, preparing me for bed. As they chat away and brush my hair, I try to let myself forget about everything for a moment.
It is impossible. I have to choose. Aspen or Maxon.
But how am I supposed to decide between two good possibilities? How can I make a choice that will leave some part of me devastated either way? I comfort myself with the thought that I still have time. I still have time.