35. Prince Cole
Chapter 35
Prince Cole
“Love is the irresistible desire
to be irresistibly desired.”
— Mark Twain
S he’s been ignoring me for four days now.
Her breathy Cole plays on a loop in my head. It’s a special kind of torture, and I can’t shake the memory of how she looked at me—like I am someone worth seeing.
My first instinct was to kiss her. But every smile, every laugh, every gentle touch of her hand feels like a gift I’m unworthy of.
It’s past midnight when I find her in the living room, lost in her diary. I stand there for a moment, just watching her.
It’s ironic—only a few days ago, I wished for her to reject me.
Now, I’m craving her attention like never before.
I know I’m a selfish bastard for wanting her attention after pushing her away. Or maybe I’m a masochist, craving her even though I know I can’t have her. I’ll only bring her pain, but I can’t stop myself from wanting her.
I clear my throat, the sound cutting through the tense silence. “Did Nora decide not to come see you today?”
She remains silent, her gaze fixed on her diary, unyielding.
Stubborn as ever.
“I’m jealous of your diary,” I say. “It’s got your full attention.”
“Tomorrow,” she mutters curtly. “She’s coming tomorrow.”
She fiddles with her necklace, something she always does when she’s nervous.
“Alright.” I spin around and head toward my office, but just before I’m out of earshot, I add, “I’ve got another gift for you, but I guess you’re not interested.”
A low groan escapes her, and I stifle a laugh at her stubbornness.
“That’s not fair,” she mumbles. “You’re truly an excellent gift giver. Of course I’m curious.”
A smile spreads across my face. “Come with me?—”
“No.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “What?”
“No.”
“No,” I echo. “Just—no?”
“It means I’m not coming with you.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
She shoots me a sharp glare, her annoyance palpable. “You crave my attention. I crave your silence. Seems like we’re in a predicament here.”
As she turns to walk away, all the blood boils in my veins. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to hang out with Rafe. He’s got a tattoo, and I want to see it.”
I clench my jaw, struggling to stifle the growl that wants to erupt. “So, what, I need to get a tattoo to get your attention?”
She doesn’t bother to look back; she just keeps walking.
Why is her silence so goddamn deafening?
“Fine, be angry with me,” I call after her. “Yell at me. Scream at me if you must. Call me a bastard. Let out your anger on me. Let it all out. Just give me something—anything. I don’t care as long as it means I get your attention.”
She refuses to look at me.
I silently beg for just one glance. Just one second. If she’d just look at me, she wouldn’t question my devotion to this—to her.
But she won’t fucking look at me.
Fuck.
I stomp into my office and pace the room, the frustration gnawing at me like a beast. It feels like I’m trapped in a cage of my own making. I want to run after her and beg for a chance to explain, to make her see that my rejection wasn’t about her but about me. But a part of me fears that chasing her might only drive her further away.
I pour myself a whiskey, trying to numb the ache. And then I hear it—her laughter. Her laughter, mingling with his.
What could she possibly be laughing about?
He’s not that fucking funny.
Fuck. That.
In a blind rage, I down the whole glass, and before I know it, it’s flying across the room and hitting the wall. I sweep all the decanters off the bar, sending them crashing to the floor.
I rake my hands through my hair, letting a dangerous calm settle over me.
She wants to see me begging for her attention, to see me desperate for her? Fine, she’ll get exactly that.
I storm out of my office, her laughter still lingering in the air. Through the haze of my fury, I see her fingers tracing the tattoo on Rafe’s chest—a sight that twists like a knife in my gut.
“Leave,” I tell him, my eyes fixed on her. Once Rafe is gone, I explode. “Davina, if you’re trying to piss me off, you’re succeeding magnificently.”
She meets my gaze with defiance. “What’s your problem? I don’t know what?—”
“Into your room.”
She scoffs. “You don’t get to order me around. And the more you try to get my attention, the more I’m reminded of how much I’d prefer not to give it to you.”
I grab her arm gently and drag her with me, and the way she looks at me now, she knows better than to argue.
“What was that?” I ask when she’s in her room.
She blocks the entrance, crossing her arms defiantly. “How is it that you manage to carry your enormous ego up the stairs?”
I grit my teeth. “If you wanted my attention, congratulations—you’ve got it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about! What is this about? His tattoo? Are you seriously jealous of a tattoo?”
Of course she’d think this is about a damn tattoo.
She suddenly laughs, but it’s not the kind of laughter I love to hear from her. It’s mocking. “Why don’t you just get one yourself instead of acting like such a caveman?” she continues. “Everyone’s entitled to act like a dick once in a while, but you really abuse the privilege.”
“I don’t want a tattoo, Davina. I don’t even like tattoos.”
“And why’s that?”
“There’s nothing worthy enough to be engraved on my skin for the rest of my life.”
“That’s such a Cole response,” she says with disdain. “Your predictability bores me.”
“Please,” I sigh, rubbing my face. “Just put me out of my misery and look at me with those pretty doe-eyes of yours again.”
She lets out a derisive snort. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I’m breaking your poor heart.”
“Maybe you are,” I admit. “But you know what? I’m okay with that. As long as you keep your eyes on me while you do.”
“Hold on a second,” she says, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “Because if it’s not about the tattoo, I’m clearly missing something. Are you jealous of him because I was touching him?”
“I’m not jealous,” I reply, trying to stay calm. “I’m pissed off.”
“Semantics,” she says dismissively.
“It’s not about you touching him. It’s that you’re avoiding me, running off to him, giggling and… Fuck ? — ”
“Well,” she says flatly, “if it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t trying to piss you off.”
“I never said that you were pissing me off. It’s your rejection that pisses me off?—”
“I learned from the best, didn’t I?”
Before I can respond, she slams the door in my face.