A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter twenty three

The moon was high above the garden when I saw Max again. He was leaning casually against the wrought iron gate, a faint smirk on his face as he waited for me. My heart skipped at the sight of him, his shirt slightly wrinkled, hair disheveled in the way that made him look effortlessly charming.

"You're late," I teased, walking toward him.

"You're impatient," he shot back, stepping closer.

"Maybe," I conceded, biting back a grin. "I thought you might not come."

"Annie," he said, his voice soft as he reached out to take my hand. "You know better than that."

Annie. The nickname had started a week ago, and it still sent a thrill through me every time he said it. There was something intimate about it, something freeing.

"Annie?" I echoed, feigning irritation.

"Yep," he said with a teasing grin. "That's my name for you."

"It makes me sound like an old lady," I complained, crossing my arms.

"Well then, you're my old lady."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You're so odd."

"And yet, here you are," he pointed out, his grin widening.

I swatted his arm lightly before grabbing his hand and pulling him deeper into the garden. The paths were lined with roses and soft lanterns, their light casting a golden glow on his face.

"Come on, I want to show you something," I said, tugging him along.

We reached the stone path beneath my bedroom window, and I stopped, gesturing upward. "That's my window."

He tilted his head, squinting up at the balcony. "Looks climbable."

I laughed. "I'm not asking you to scale the wall right now. I just thought... if you ever wanted to visit me, and it wasn't convenient to meet in the town, or in the garden..."

His brows lifted in surprise, then amusement. "Are you saying I should sneak into your room, Annie? And break into the duke's house?" he fakes shock, putting a hand to his chest.

"Only if you want to," I replied, my cheeks warming.

"I'd scale a hundred walls for you," he said, his tone suddenly serious.

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and the warmth of his hand lingered against my skin.

Before I could overthink it, I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm and soft, and for a moment, the world around us disappeared.

When we finally pulled back, I felt breathless. His forehead rested against mine, his eyes searching mine. "Annie," he murmured, and the way he said it made my heart ache in the best way.

"I like you. You know that, right?" Max's voice is quiet, but sure, his blue eyes locked on mine like they're trying to read my every thought.

Heat floods my cheeks, my heart skipping at his words. "I like you too, Max," I reply, my voice soft but steady.

"Good." A small smile tugs at his lips. He pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Who would've thought? A duchess and a teacher."

"Hmm, yes," I murmur with a teasing smile, a soft laugh escaping me. "To be completely honest, when we first met, you seemed to dislike me... sir."

He groans, rolling his eyes. "Don't call me 'sir.' That makes me sound old."

"Oh, like 'Annie'?" I shoot back, unable to resist.

"Shush." His smirk returns, and it's impossible not to grin back. "And for the record, I didn't dislike you. Not really."

I raise a skeptical brow. "Not really?"

He sighs dramatically, though there's a warmth in his gaze now. "Fine. Maybe I did. But only because I thought you were like every other stuck-up rich girl I'd met."

I gasp, placing a hand on my chest in mock offense. "Stuck-up rich girl? How rude of you, sir."

He laughs, shaking his head before stepping back, his voice softening. "But I was wrong. You're not like them, Annie. You're so much more than that."

My breath catches as his hand brushes against mine.

"And I'm glad I was wrong," he murmurs.

-

Our secret meetings became a routine after that night. Some nights, I would slip away to see him at the school, where he would teach me about the children he worked with, their hopes and struggles. Other times, he'd take me to the bar, where Carlos and Daniel would tease us mercilessly, though their smiles betrayed their fondness.

And sometimes, Max would come to the estate, meeting me in the garden or beneath my window. We had avoided being spotted, and we weee careful to do so. We'd talk for hours about everything and nothing, the closeness between us growing with every shared word, every lingering touch.

One evening, after a particularly long day, I decided to speak with my father about trying to help Max.

He was in his study, as usual, poring over documents that always seemed more important than anything I had to say. But tonight, I wasn't going to let him brush me aside.

"I want to talk about the estate's funding," I said, stepping inside.

He glanced up briefly, his expression impatient. "What about it?"

"There are children working here, in Canterbury—too many of them," I said, stepping closer. "Children who should be in school."

Like Thomas.

"And?"

"And I want us to use some of the estate's resources to pay for their education," I said, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Education doesn't put food on the table."

"No, but it gives them a chance at something better," I countered. "If we help them now, they'll be able to do more for themselves—and for the town—later."

His brows furrowed. "You're speaking like a romantic, Annalise. The world doesn't work that way."

I swallowed my frustration, my voice rising slightly. "It's not romantic to care about the people who depend on us. It's responsible."

He sighed, shaking his head. "And how do you suggest we fund this little project of yours?"

"We could start small," I said quickly, hope rising in my chest. "Just a few children at first—the ones who are already working the hardest."

Like Thomas.

My father's expression softened slightly, though his tone remained skeptical.

"And who decides which children are deserving?" he asked.

"We do," I said firmly. "Together. Please, Father. Just... think about it."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken arguments. Finally, he sighed. "I'll consider it."

It wasn't a promise, but it was a start.

"I already have a candidate." I say eagerly.

My father just look at me wirh his eyebrows raised.

"The boy who runs delivers all around town. He is the brother of the teacher—I forget his name."

Max.

"But he works very hard and seems eager to learn more, he came by just this morning."

My father looks down at his paper work and puts on his glasses, "I'll look into it."

It's all he says.

But I'm so happy.

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