Griffin had told her that he liked her tonight, even as he constantly insisted she change what she look like. How was she supposed to take him seriously even as he tried to fix her?
She carefully removed the heavy necklace and set it down on the dresser. Next, the earrings. Then, she removed the pins from her hair and shook it out. It was still too smooth and strange to be her own. So was the perfect face that stared back at her. She needed a shower.
Maylee shimmied out of the dress—no easy feat considering she didn’t have any help with the zipper. She grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom and washed her hair.
When she emerged, her face was squeaky clean, her hair was back to wet, roping curls, and she felt more like herself. She dressed in her camo pajamas and picked up her knitting and climbed into bed. She couldn’t concentrate, though. Her gaze kept straying over to the jewelry on the dresser, and her thoughts kept playing over the night.
Griffin said he liked her. He liked her smile. He liked her touch.
But did he really like her? Did he want the real Maylee? The country girl who wore camo pajamas and knitted and tried to drink out of finger bowls at fancy parties? Or did he want the smooth, elegant blonde he’d tried to make her into?
She put aside her knitting and turned off the light. Even then she couldn’t sleep. What did he want from her?
I’m not good with people.
Maylee thought it wasn’t that he was bad with people; it was that he didn’t know how to ask for things after a lifetime of having them handed to him.
And that thought made her sit upright in the bed.
He didn’t know how to ask for things. Griffin just assumed that they would naturally become his. All the nobility thought like that. He didn’t know how to ask her if she was interested in him. He’d hemmed and hawed around things tonight and eventually told her he liked her.
And that was it. He hadn’t said more. Maybe he hadn’t realized she needed to hear more?
Was that Griffin’s weird way of asking her if she liked him? If she wanted to kiss him? Simply telling her he was bad with people and leaving it out there for her to interpret?
Suddenly, she needed to know the answer to that.
She flicked on the light and jumped out of her bed, crossing the room to the adjoining door. Without stopping to think about the hour or if it was polite to do so, she knocked quickly.
There was a loud rustling on the other side of the door, and a moment later, Griffin flung it open, his eyes slightly wild, hair mussed. “Maylee! Is—is everything all right?” He pushed into her room, and she noticed he had the bedside lamp in hand, brandishing it like a weapon once more.
Oh, dear. She’d scared him. “It’s all right,” she told him. “There’s no one in my room but you.”
He exhaled slowly and then looked over at her. With a low breath, he nodded and relaxed. “You startled me.”
“I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms under her br**sts, tucking her hands in and feeling a little stupid. “I shouldn’t have woken you up.”
“Don’t be silly.” He rubbed his face and returned back to his room to put the lamp down. “What do you need?”
I need you to like me for me, she thought, and was surprised at her own thoughts. “I was just, um, curious what you meant earlier.”
“What I meant earlier?”
“When you said I was impressive.”
His face flushed. That, combined with his messy hair, made him look adorably boyish despite the long, lean chest that was currently exposed to her view. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
“Oh.” She rocked on her feet, hating that he was dismissing her already. She felt like they were so close to some sort of breakthrough that if she didn’t say something now, the moment would be gone forever. But was she stupid to say it? Even as she stood before him looking like her normal self instead of the elegant woman she was earlier?
“Get some sleep,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’ll check your room for you if you like.”
“No, it’s okay,” she told him. “I just would like to talk right now.”
“About?”
She ignored that sharp, clipped word. “You and me.”
“What about us?”
Maylee gave him a straightforward look. “I want to know why you’re constantly trying to change me if you like me.”
He looked incredibly uncomfortable at that. “I’m not trying to change you.”
“You are.”
Griffin rubbed his face again. “It’s not that simple. These people live and breathe protocol. I just don’t want . . . I don’t want anyone to hurt your feelings by making you feel inadequate.”
“The only person who’s done that to me is you.”
He flinched and looked away.
“It’s true. Every time I let my guard down, you hurt me. And I . . . I like you. But I don’t know if I should.”
“I’m an idiot,” he declared harshly. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings. Anything but that.”
“And do you like me?” It felt weird to throw it out there so boldly, but she did wonder if he didn’t know how to ask. She would simply have to do the asking. “For me?”
He was silent for so long that she thought she’d made a mistake in being so blunt. Her stomach churned nervously.
Then, he looked slowly up at her and reached out to finger a lock of her hair. It was damp, the corkscrew curl loose. As she watched, he wrapped it around his finger. “I missed seeing these tonight.”
“You did?” Her breath caught in her throat.
He nodded, seemingly fascinated by that curl between his fingers. “I kept thinking your hair looked messy and unkempt and wild, but I didn’t realize how much I liked that look on you until it was all smoothed out. You were beautiful but you weren’t . . . you.”
And that was what she wanted—no, needed—to hear.
Maylee stepped forward, moving toward him. She put a hand on the center of his chest, over his heart. He was incredibly warm. He didn’t move, but she felt him tense against her. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?” she whispered.
His gaze met hers, and she saw hope and passion there. His fingers lifted, traced the lines of her cheek. “Are you scared to sleep alone?”
“No. Can I sleep with you anyhow?”
He groaned and dragged her into his room.
Chapter Ten
Griffin’s warm hands took hers and he pulled her into his room. The lights were off, but from the light streaming in from her connected room, she could see a heavily rumpled bed. It was obvious that he wasn’t exactly sleeping soundly, either. Was he thinking about her, too? Unable to sleep because he had her on his mind? Or was that wishful thinking?