The Selection (Selection - Trilogy)

you had asked me a month ago what my honest opinion of you was, it would have been very different. But now I know you, and I know the truth, and you are everything I said you were. And more.”
    He was quiet, but there was a small smile on his face.
    “Thank you,” he finally said.
    “Anytime.”
    Maxon cleared his throat. “He’ll be lucky, too.” He got down from his makeshift seat and walked to my side of the balcony.
    “Huh?”
    “Your boyfriend. When he comes to his senses and begs you to take him back,” Maxon said matter-of-factly.
    I had to laugh. No such thing would happen in my world.
    “He’s not my boyfriend anymore. And he made it pretty clear he was done with me.” Even I could hear the tiny bit of hope in my voice.
    “Not possible. He’ll have seen you on TV by now and fallen for you all over again. Though, in my opinion, you’re still much too good for the dog.” Maxon spoke almost as if he was bored, like he’d seen this happen a million times.
    “Speaking of which!” he said a bit louder. “If you don’t want me to be in love with you, you’re going to have to stop looking so lovely. First thing tomorrow I’m having your maids sew some potato sacks together for you.”
    I hit his arm. “Shut up, Maxon.”
    “I’m not kidding. You’re too beautiful for your own good. Once you leave, we’ll have to send some of the guards with you. You’ll never survive on your own, poor thing.” He said all this with mock pity.
    “I can’t help it.” I sighed. “One can never help being born into perfection.” I fanned my face as if being so pretty was exhausting.
    “No, I don’t suppose you can help it.”
    I giggled. I didn’t notice for a moment that Maxon didn’t seem to think it was funny.
    I stared out at the garden and saw out of the corner of my eye that Maxon was looking at me. His face was incredibly close to mine. When I turned to ask just what he was looking at, I was surprised to see that he was close enough to kiss me.
    I was even more surprised when he did.
    I pulled away quickly, taking a step. Maxon stepped back as well.
    “Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing.
    “What are you doing?” I asked in a shocked whisper.
    “Sorry.” He was slightly turned away, obviously embarrassed.
    “Why did you do that?” I put my hand to my mouth.
    “It’s just … with what you said earlier, and then seeking me out yesterday … just the way you acted… I thought maybe your feelings had changed. And I like you, I thought you could tell.” He turned to face me. “And… Oh, was it terrible? You don’t look happy at all.”
    I tried to wipe whatever expression I had off my face. Maxon looked mortified.
    “I’m so sorry. I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just… I’m sorry, America.” He breathed a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair a few times, leaning against the railing.
    I didn’t expect it, but a warmth filled me.
    He’d wanted his first kiss to be with me.
    I thought about the Maxon I knew now—the man full of compliments, the man prepared to give me the winnings of a bet I lost, the man who forgave me when I hurt him both physically and emotionally—and discovered that I didn’t mind that at all.
    Yes, I still had feelings for Aspen. I couldn’t undo that. But if I couldn’t be with him, then what was holding me back from being with Maxon? Nothing more than my preconceived ideas of him, which were nothing close to who he was.
    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