I stepped up to him and rubbed my hand across his forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m erasing that memory. I think we can do better.” I pulled my hand down and propped myself up beside him, facing toward my room. Maxon didn’t move … but he did smile.
“America, I don’t think you can change history.” All the same, his expression looked hopeful.
“Sure we can. Besides, who’d ever know about it but you and me?”
Maxon looked at me for a moment, clearly wondering if this was really okay. Slowly, I saw a cautious confidence creep into his face as he looked into my eyes. We stayed that way for a moment before I could remember just what I had said.
“One can never help being born into perfection,” I whispered.
He came close, wrapping an arm around my waist so that we faced each other. His nose tickled mine. He ran his fingers across my cheek so gently it seemed he was afraid I would break.
“No, I don’t suppose you can,” he breathed.
With his hand holding my face toward his, Maxon lowered his lips to mine and gave me the faintest whisper of a kiss.
Something about the tentativeness of it made me feel beautiful. Without a word, I could understand how excited he was to have this moment, but then afraid at the same time. And deeper than any of that, I sensed that he adored me.
So this was what it felt like to be a lady.