A/N: Gooooood morning! Or afternoon, or evening, or middle of the night for those of you who tell me You stay up waiting for me to post (GO TO SLEEP). More fluff, a little bit of angst, it's a good time. Just so you're aware, there's about two paragraphs towards the end that looks like were getting a little spicy, but it doesn't go very far, I promise! Also, the outtake you're getting on Wednesday is going to be exactly what you want at the end of the chapter. You'll understand. Thanks for reading!
I did win my lunch of choice, which isn't entirely surprising. What is surprising, however, is the tray of dessert Maxon had the kitchens send up as well- a strawberry tart for me and chocolate cake for him.
"Have I made up for leaving you alone for a few minutes yet?" Maxon asks with a smile, looking up to see me devouring the dessert.
I shrug as I stab another shiny strawberry. "I haven't decided yet. Depends on what you have to show me here."
Maxon is laying out some of his prints on the floor in front of his bed while I lounge on said bed, laying on my stomach and watching him set each picture down gently to prevent damage.
"There," he says, rising from his crouch. "I have more. But I think these are the ones you're most likely to want."
I roll off the bed and set my plate on his nightstand. I stand next to him while I examine all the pictures he's laid out for me and he throws an arm around my shoulders, tucking me into his side.
"Well, obviously, I want all of them," I say, wrapping an arm around his waist and propping my other hand on my hip.
"Obviously," Maxon repeats solemnly.
"I definitely want that one," I say, pointing to a portrait of Queen Amberly reading a book in the gardens. "And that one." A shot of clear blue sky over the Angeles ocean, with big, pillowy clouds this time.
"Noted."
"Where's that one from?" I ask of a glossy picture of a bustling street filled with people, cars, and little carts laden with food or trinkets.
"New Asia," Maxon answers, bending to pick up the photos I pick. "The capital, actually. It was the only time I've been out in public there."
I walk around to the other side of the arrangement, pointing out a few more pictures of various landscapes for him to collect.
"That's Carolina," I marvel, coming to a picture of a winding path through a forest.
"Yes, it is," he confirms. "How did you recognize it?"
"The trees." I brush my fingers across the fiery leaves, frozen in time. "Trees don't look like this anywhere else in the world."
"That's true."
I hand it to Maxon to add to the steadily accumulating stack of photos.
"You don't have to pick all of them now," he points out. "I'm sure I'll take some of your family once they move here to add as well."
I nod. "I'm going to need to steal one of your cameras one of these days."
"Why?"
"Because I want pictures of you, and that's the only way I'll get anything other than your Royal Portraits, I assume."
Maxon nods. "No one's ever wanted pictures of me before, other than my mother." he ducks his head a little, but I pull it back up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
"Get used to it; if you're going to be flying away to other countries at any given moment, I'm going to need pictures to remember what you look like. You already have five million and seven of me," I remind him.
"You've counted, have you?" he says with a laugh.
I wave my hand in the general direction of his collage, which has even more pictures of me than it did the first time I was here. We spent an afternoon in the gardens a few weeks ago, and Maxon told me he was bringing his camera to take pictures of the scenery, but I figured out he meant me only a few minutes in. There are several of me from that day, some posed and some candid. He's also pulled some from the publicity shoots we do as a group and pinned those around. There are easily fifty pictures of me up on his walls.
"You'd better not let any of the girls in here, or they'll know something's up," I warn.
He shrugs. "I won't. We talked about that; I'm not letting anyone but you in here."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I sing-song as I hold up two pictures of a field of flowers, deciding which I like better.
"We'll see," Maxons says casually, accepting the print I hand to him and setting it with the others.
I take another sweeping look over the photos on the floor. There are shots of the library and some palace hallways left; all gorgeous of course, but I can't cover every wall in pictures, especially when more are coming. "I think I'm done for now. I want copies of the one of the wall in New Asia and that tapestry one, though," I tack on, pointing out pictures on Maxon's wall.
I help Maxon pick up the rest off the floor and cross the room to stare out at the rain, which is still pouring down in the dying twilight. In the reflection of the window, I see him slide the photos I chose in one folder, and the others in another, tucking them both away in a drawer of his desk. He strips off his dress shirt, leaving him just in his undershirt and suit pants.
I ogle a little bit as he comes up behind me; I'm not ashamed of that.
He wraps his warm body around me, which is welcome this close to the chill of the window, and intertwines our fingers. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, takes a deep breath, and holds me against him more tightly for just a moment. He presses a kiss to my neck and rests his chin on my shoulder.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing, really," I answer, leaning back to let him take more of my weight. He hardly seems to notice. "I'm just… happy. This is what every day is going to be like, soon."
"Well," Maxon interrupts a little nervously. "Not quite- we won't get whole days to ourselves very often. A few times a year, maybe, but even that is optimistic. I'm let out of meetings and such quite regularly to participate in the Selection. That will stop once it's over."
"I know," I reassure him. "I meant, not seeing the other girls or trying to hide. We can just… be together."
"We are together," he says firmly, hugging me tightly again. His fingers trace over the ring that has been on my hand all day- it's going to be hard to take it off later tonight. "Everyone who matters, knows. It's not anyone else's business."
"It quite literally is the entire country's business," I say with a wry little smile. "And my family doesn't. Just my dad."
"Really?" Maxon's eyebrows raise as he makes eye contact with me in our reflection. "I assumed they all knew."
I shake my head. "My mom is terrible at keeping secrets. She'd tell Sara and Lena, and Lena would tell Aspen, and eventually someone would let something slip. I wish May and Kenna knew, but they will soon enough."
"I'm sorry," Maxon says softly. "Who are Sara and Lena?"
"Mom's best friends. Sara is a Five that she's known forever, and the Legers have always been family friends. It's how Aspen and I met; Lena's his mom."
"Hm." Maxon feigns indifference, but my grin tells him I see right through it. "Doesn't he already know?"
"You said we had to keep it a secret," I shrug. "Also, I'd broken up with him before you proposed; it's not like I was going to seek him out to tell him."
Maxon frowns. "You're mine," he pouts.
I roll my eyes. "I don't belong to anyone," I say pointedly as I elbow his side, "but I did choose you. And he doesn't have any say in the matter."
He mumbles an apology, and I roll my eyes with a smile.
"Have you heard from Marlee and Carter recently?" I change the subject.
"Yes," he answers with a sly little smile. "But I'm not telling you what I know for a little while longer."
"Why?"
Maxon checks his watch. "You'll find out in an hour or so," he says casually.
"I could probably convince you to tell me," I tease. I turn in his arms to dust kisses up and down his jaw and run my hands up his arms.
His breath hitches. "You- you probably could, but- oh- you'd ruin the surprise-"
"Maybe I don't care," I say, pressing myself close to him and kissing him firmly. Maxon clutches at my hips and gasps as I press my tongue against the seam of his lips. He tightens his grip around my waist and lifts me off my feet, still kissing me as he takes us to his bed. He tosses me down, and I laugh as he climbs on top me and comes back down to kiss me again.
I wrap my arms around his neck, unwilling to be parted from him for even a second. Our bodies roll together, and I let out a whimper when Maxon settles between my legs, but he swallows the sound before it is fully vocalized. He wraps his arms fully around me and crushes me to his chest. It seems like it should hurt, but I only wish he would bring me closer so no one could ever make us pretend to feel less than we do again.
Maxon slips his hand under my sweater, his hands velvet-soft against the bare skin of my back. His fingers, chilled from the window, leave trails of goosebumps behind. We breathe each other's air, each nearly trying to consume the other. I take my turn and slide my hands under Maxon's shirt, skipping my fingertips over the ridges of his abdomen. He stiffens under my touch and gasps, just like I did. I smile against Maxon's mouth at the idea that I have the same effect on him that he has on me.
He pulls a hand out to tangle in my hair, anchoring my mouth to his. Our tongues tangle and our teeth scrape across each other in our haste to get even closer. I move my hands to spread across Maxon's back and my fingers run over what feel like scars across-
"What?"
Maxon has somehow managed to leap off the bed and is now standing across the room. I sit up, brushing hair out my face while we both breathe heavily.
Maxon runs his hands through his hair. "I- sorry, I just- You-"
I stand and walk over to him, but he backs away, raising his hands to keep me away. I take a step back.
"Maxon?" I ask gently. "What happened? Are you okay?"
His breath shudders and he leans on the wall then crumbles to the floor. Before I can rush over, he puts his hands up again. "No, I'm okay. Just… give me a second."
I wait as he collects himself. He takes a few more deep, shaking breaths, and stands up slowly. I see that my hand is reached out to help him and quickly pull it back. Maxon silently goes to where he discarded his dress shirt just a few minutes ago, and swiftly slips his arms through the sleeves, but leaves it unbuttoned. His face is blank.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask softly.
He sits on the edge of the bed and holds a hand out for me. I take it and sit next to him, leaving several inches of space. He shakes his head and wraps his arm around my waist to pull me closer. I rest my hand on his thigh, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes, and straightens his spine.
"I'm sorry. I should have stopped you before it went that far." He doesn't look at me.
"I- I didn't know you'd want to stop. I thought- I mean, I didn't think- I thought I felt-" I am very confused.
"Would you let it go if I told you it was nothing?"
"If you really wanted me to," I answer, turning to catch his eye. He stares at the floor. "But something clearly upset you. I'd like to know what it was, so I can help or avoid it later."
Maxon sighs and rakes a hand through his hair again. "You can't help. You're going to have to find out eventually, I suppose. Though I've been racking my brain trying to figure out how to avoid it." He stands and slips the dress shirt off his shoulders, then pulls his undershirt off as well.
My mouth goes dry when his bare chest is revealed. Smooth, tan skin stretches over taut muscle, and my fingers twitch remembering how it felt beneath them. I am definitely lucky.
Maxon smiles a little at my clear admiration, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He turns around, his eyes still trained on the floor.
His back is covered in scars. Thin little lines that vary in color from silvery white to a pale pink. Some are clearly years old, while others seem much newer. There are a few that still have scabs over them. I come closer before I realize what I'm doing, but I stop before I touch them.
"Maxon... " I whisper, a single tear falling down my cheek. "Who did this to you?"
Maxon turns and puts his undershirt back on. "Who do you think?" he says with a wry twist of his lips. He sits up against his headboard, but I stay where I am. He holds out a hand to me again though, and I curl up next to him.
"But why?" I ask, finally meeting his eyes. "How could he possibly justify…"
He shrugs and holds me closer. "A lot of ways. I spoke out of turn at a meeting, didn't know something I was supposed to know. One time I found out that he inflated some statistics about the war to draft more people. It varies."
"Maxon, I- I'm so sorry." It's all I can think to say.
"It's not your fault," is the only thing he says, then falls silent.
Then, the words come flooding out.
"Sometimes I'm afraid to have kids. I know we've talked about it, and I do want them, I promise, but I don't know how- if the only example I have is my own father, how will I know what to do? How am I supposed to be king when the only one I've ever seen is him? I know he's not all bad, so how do I separate the good from everything else? He knows how to control a room, and I don't know how else to do that besides being cruel, and I have to be in command, so do I have to be cruel, and there's no way to avoid that? He's my father, I am genetically just like him; how can I-" Maxon cuts himself off, and I know he's fighting back tears.
I sit up to wrap him in as tight a hug as I can manage while avoiding his scars. "I know," I murmur. "I know, I know." I kiss the top of his head, my own eyes blurring with tears as Maxon succumbs to his, tears wetting my shirt as he shakes silently in my arms. "We'll figure it out together," I vow.
"I'll be there to help you, and your mother is here, too. You are so like her, Maxon," I whisper, aching for him to feel how much I mean it. "I don't think I ever told you about how she asked me to play for her while you were in New Asia. I spent the day in her office, watching her meet with advisors, make phone calls, all the things you're worried about, and, Maxon, you are just like her. You may look more like your father, but I swear to you, everything else is one hundred percent Amberly Station Schreave." It is strange to talk about her like this, but I know it's what Maxon needs right now.
"You are kind, and you are gracious, and you are forgiving, and you are funny, and you are sweet, and all of it comes from your mother. Everything good that you do, it's not your father's better side shining through, it is your mother's influence on you winning, and I can see it more and more, even just in the few months I've known you."
Maxon's tears have stopped, but he is still holding on to me. I weave my fingers through his hair and grasp his hands with the other.
"She is the best thing to ever happen to this place," I continue softly. "You are amazing, but you are a direct result of her. Don't ever forget, Maxon, you may be your father's heir, but you are your mother's son, and that is so much more important." I press another kiss to the top of his head.
"I love you," he murmurs into my lap, where he's slipped down over the last few minutes.
I keep twirling my fingers in his hair. "I love you, too." Tears fall gently down my cheeks. I will never be able to describe the greatness I see in him, and how thrilled I am to get to see him come into it.
Maxon sits up and goes into his bathroom to splash some water on his face. He comes back after a moment and wraps an arm around me.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"Don't you dare," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. "That's what I'm here for."
"Do you really feel that way about my mother?"
"Absolutely," I say firmly. "She's the best. I admired her even before I came here. Not as much as I do now, but I still did."
Maxon smiles tiredly. "I do, too. Do you really think I'm that much like her?"
I turn to look at him seriously. "Yes. I can't really describe it to you- it's just in the way you walk, in the way you talk to people. You were so kind to all of the girls here, even when you knew they didn't really care who you were, as long as you could make them a princess. You cut everything short because you didn't think people should risk their lives for you. Maxon, you are so much like your mother, it's a little scary sometimes.
"You both call me 'dear', which you both apparently came up with all on your own too, which is a little infuriating," I add with a smile.
"Are you going to tell her to stop?" he asks with a grin playing at his mouth.
"No." I flick his bicep, right under the hem of his undershirt.
"That's assault," Maxon complains. "Assaulting the prince is treason."
I laugh. "Sweetheart, if you haven't arrested me for treason by now, you never will."
"That's true." Maxon smiles sweetly and looks at his watch. "You may want to clean up a bit; I'm still not telling you where we're going, but I will warn you that I'm breaking my promise again. We're going to have to separate again, for a little longer this time. But you'll like it."
"No way." I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze as tight as I can. "Not happening. I'm falling asleep here and you're carrying me back at three o'clock."
Maxon laughs. "Am I now? What if I don't want to?"
I laugh too, loud and short. "You know you do."
"Guilty," Maxon admits as he pushes himself off the bed and offers me a hand up. "Now, you know I think you're beautiful, but you want to fix your hair now."
I take his hand, shaking my head. "You have a lot of learning to do."
"I look forward to it." Maxon trails his fingers down my arm as I walk towards the bathroom, then twists to grab my wrist and yank me back towards him. I gasp as he kisses me firmly.
"Thank you," he whispers when he releases me. He pushes me back towards the bathroom. "Now go. You can't be Marlee's Maid of Honor looking like that."
"What?"