Inside my helmet, I smile.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I get off the highway and take the road toward the palace, turn off it onto the service road. The back gate opens for us and I cut the engine, letting the bike coast to the garage. I don’t let go of her hand until I guide the bike into its parking spot.
We dismount and toss our helmets into the sidecar, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m pulling Hazel against me and wrapping my arms around her.
“I’m fine,” she says. She’s not shaking anymore, at least.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken you.”
“I had a really good time until the end, actually,” she says. “Even the tunnels weren’t so bad. Your friends are...”
She trails off.
“Assholes?” I offer.
Hazel laughs.
“I was gonna say fun,” she says.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am surprised.”
“Am I that bad?” I ask.
Alone and out of danger, her body pressed against mine in the dark garage, I’m acutely aware of everything. The way her chest expands against me when she breathes. The way her voice hums against my chest. The way her hands are locked around my waist, the way she fits against me perfectly.
“Not at all,” she finally says.
After a long moment, she pulls out of the embrace to take off my jacket.
“Here,” she says, looking up at me. “You’re — shit, Kostya, you said you didn’t get hurt.”
She touches my chin so lightly that I can barely feel her fingers. I toss my jacket onto the bike behind her and shrug.
“I’ve been hurt worse,” I say.
One of the guys managed to land a glancing blow on my chin, just hard enough to bruise and split my lip on one side, nothing major. It’s not bleeding anymore, and barely even swelling.
“You should put ice on that or something,” she says.
Her fingers run underneath my lip, skimming the surface of my skin, and I swear her touch tingles. She’s examining my face, concern in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say, as her cool fingers run over the lump on my chin.
She just frowns.
“Zloyushka, I’ll be good as new in a couple days,” I say, and take her hand in mine.
“I don’t think you get to beat up two guys outside a speakeasy and call me the bad girl,” she says.
Her eyes drop to my knuckles.
“Your hands are fucked up, too,” she points out.
“What’s that English phrase?” I ask. “The one that means the person I fought is worse?”
“You should see the other guy,” Hazel says. “And I did.”
Now she’s got both her hands on mine, examining my bruised knuckles, feeling along the bones and tendons, making sure nothing’s broken.
I know nothing is, but I could stand here forever and let her touch me, in this vast dark garage, surrounded by fancy cars bought with Sveloria’s oil money. I feel like time has stopped, like the outside world stopped mattering.
This is stupid. I know this is stupid, and I’m perfectly aware that I’m careening toward something much, much more stupid, but I don’t care.
If I cared, I wouldn’t have followed her out of that dinner when she was drunk. I would have turned around and left the roof last night. I would have left her at the palace tonight and gone out alone.
But I didn’t do any of that. For the first time, I’ve met a girl I feel like I can’t stay away from, and I dove headlong into idiot decisions.
“At least I didn’t kick him twice in the testicles,” I say.
Hazel just wrinkles her nose, and I realize that was probably the wrong thing to say in the moment.
“Give me your other hand,” she commands softly.
I do it, and her light but firm fingers work it over, checking for damage.
“I’ve gotten in fights before, you know,” I say. “I’ve made it this far.”
“Kostya, shut up and let me do something after you probably saved my life,” she says.
“That’s no way to speak to a prince.”
“Then throw me in a dungeon,” she says, and her eyes flick up to mine, a teasing smile around them.
“I told you, we don’t do that anymore,” I say.
I let her hands go and slide my thumb along the line of her jaw, completely unable to stop myself.
“Now, we let the barbarians come through the front door and smoke pot on the roof,” I say.
Her hand is on my side now, her eyes wide and deep brown.
“I’m civilized,” she whispers.
“Are you sure?” I ask, letting my voice drop. “I like barbarians.”
I bend down and kiss her before she can respond, and her mouth underneath mine is warm and pliant and she kisses me back, her fingers curling against my side. My heart is slamming against my ribs, her silky hair between my fingers, and I run my other hand down her back.
After a moment I end the kiss and just barely pull away. I’m breathing hard and my whole body is buzzing with desire.
I want to kiss her harder. I want to fit my fingers to the notches in her back. I want to hear the sound she makes if I kiss her neck, I want to lift her up and I want her to wrap her legs around me as I push her back against the bulletproof SUV.
Instead, I wait for a heartbeat, her lips millimeters from mine. I’m afraid I’ll spin completely out of control if I don’t.
But then Hazel wraps her hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to hers, our lips moving together slowly. We stop, separate by millimeters, kiss again, deeper this time, her fingers on my spine now, pressing me toward her.
I’m rock hard, and she has to notice, but I don’t care. I’m sure Hazel’s figured out by now how much I want her.
Delicately, almost tentatively, she glides the tip of her tongue along my lower lip and I touch it with my own. Somehow, my hand got under her jacket and her shirt and my fingers are on her bare skin, my other hand still in her hair.
We move so slow I think I might explode, but exploring her like this feels so right that I don’t care if I do. I may as well be thirteen again, kissing a girl for the first time for how brand-new and wonderful everything feels, how much I don’t want this to end.
There’s a loud beep from the garage entrance.
We both freeze, the kiss ending suddenly. Then footsteps.
“Shit,” Hazel whispers. “Are we even allowed in here?”
“I’m allowed everywhere,” I whisper. “Remember?”
“So do we just walk out there and say hi, then?”
We’re still holding each other tight, and I desperately want to pretend that nothing is wrong and keep making out with her.
But there are a couple of things that could put me in deep, deep shit with my father, and I’ve already done several of them tonight.
“Someone must have seen the garage door open,” I say.
I should have gotten off the bike and walked it through a different door, but it wasn’t the first thing on my mind.
Now I can see a flashlight moving over cars. Goddamn it.
“See that ugly box truck with the canvas over the bed?” I whisper, pointing.
Hazel looks around me, then nods.