The Heir (The Selection #4) - Kiera Cass Page 0,33

of his crooked smiles, just like his dad’s, and it was fun to see how excited he was about it. “Do you want to see?”

“See what?”

“Some of my designs. I have them in my room. My old one, not my Selected one, so they’re just down the hall.”

“Sure.” I took one last sip of wine and followed him out. Except for a guard or two, the hallway was empty as Kile and I made our way to his room.

He opened the door and flicked on the lights, and I had to stop myself from gasping.

He. Was. A. Mess!

His bed wasn’t made, there were clothes amassed in a corner, and several dirty plates were piled on his side table.

“I know what you’re thinking. How does he keep it so immaculate?”

“You read my mind,” I said, trying not to appear completely repulsed. At least it didn’t smell bad.

“About a year ago I asked the staff to stop cleaning for me. I do it myself. But the Selection kind of caught me off guard, so I just left it how it was.”

He started kicking objects under his bed and trying to pull the things within his reach a little straighter.

“Why don’t you let them clean?”

“I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

I didn’t think he meant that as a dig at me, but it stung all the same.

“Anyway, this is my work space.”

In the far corner of the room the walls were covered in pictures and posters of everything from skyscrapers to mud huts. His desk was overflowing with prints he’d drawn up, and models built from wooden scraps and thin strips of metal.

“Did you make all these?” I asked, gently touching a structure that slightly twisted as it went upward.

“Yep. Concept, design. I’d love to create real buildings one day. I’m studying, but there’s only so much I can learn without getting my hands on things, you know?”

“Kile . . .” I took in all of it: the colors and lines, the amount of time and thought that must have gone into each of them. “This is amazing.”

“It’s just me fooling around.”

“No, don’t do that. Don’t make it seem like less than it is. I could never do something like this.”

“Sure you could.” He went over and pulled out a ruler shaped like a T and laid it over something he was already working on. “See, it’s just a matter of looking at the lines and doing the math.”

“Ugh, more math. I do enough of that as it is.”

He laughed. “But this is fun math.”

“Fun math is an oxymoron.”

Kile and I moved to his couch, and we went through a few books of his favorite architects, studying their styles. He seemed particularly interested in how some worked with the land around them and others worked against it. “I mean, look at that!” he said enthusiastically after nearly every page.

I couldn’t believe it had taken me all these years to see this side of him. He tucked himself inside a shell, shutting himself away from others here because the palace had trapped him. Behind the books and the snippy remarks there was a curious, engaging, and sometimes very charming person.

I felt like I’d been lied to. Was someone going to pop around the corner and tell me Josie was really a saint?

Eventually Kile looked down to his watch. “It’s ten after nine.”

“Oh. We should go then.” But I didn’t want to get up. Kile’s messy room was one of the most comfortable places I’d ever been.

“Yeah.” Kile closed the book and put it back on the shelf. Even though that corner was as haphazard as the rest of the room, I could see the care he took with it.

I waited for him by the door, suddenly nervous.

“Here,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s the end of a date, right?”

I placed my hand in his. “Thanks. For showing me your work, and for doing this. I promise to pay you back.”

“I know.”

He opened the door and walked me down the hall. “When do you think we last held hands?” I wondered out loud.

“Probably a game of red rover or something.”

“Probably.”

We were quiet as we headed toward my room. When we reached it, I turned back to Kile and watched as he swallowed.

“Nervous?” I whispered.

“Nah.” He smiled, but he also fidgeted. “So . . . goodnight.”

Kile leaned down, lips meeting mine, holding them there. Then his lips parted and closed and parted again. I drew a breath in the moment between kisses, sensing