A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter forty one

The morning sun filtered through the large windows of my room as I sat on the edge of my bed, running a comb through my hair. Clara stood by the vanity, her face unusually bright, her cheeks glowing with an excitement I hadn't seen in her before.

"You'll never guess what happened," she began, turning toward me with a knowing smile.

I set the comb down, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Clara sat beside me, folding her hands in her lap as if she couldn't contain her joy any longer. "Franco kissed me."

My eyes widened, a grin spreading across my face. "What? Clara! When?"

"Last night," she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. "It was... perfect. We were walking in the garden after dinner, and he was telling me about how he plans to expand his family's business. And then, out of nowhere, he just stopped, looked at me, and said, 'Clara, may I kiss you?'"

I laughed, clutching her arm. "He asked for permission? That's so sweet."

Clara nodded, her smile softening. "It was. And when he kissed me..." She sighed dreamily. "It felt like everything just... fell into place."

I leaned closer, my heart full for her. "I'm so happy for you, Clara. Does Father know?"

Her smile turned mischievous. "He does now. I told him this morning."

"And?"

"And he actually approved!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "He said Franco is a respectable young man and that, once I'm of age and if Franco chooses, we can get engaged."

I threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Clara, that's wonderful. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy."

She pulled back, her eyes suspiciously shiny. "Thank you, Ann. And... I'm glad you're happy too. Max seems like a good man."

"He is," I said softly, my heart swelling at the thought of him.

-

Later that evening, I found myself at the bar with Max, Daniel, Pierre, Carlos, and Charles.

Max sat beside me, his hand resting lightly on my knee beneath the table. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill through me, and I couldn't help but lean closer to him as the others bantered and laughed around us.

The air in the bar was thick with warmth and laughter, the kind of camaraderie that made everything feel right with the world. The six of us had claimed a corner table, far enough from the louder crowd but still close enough to feel the hum of the lively tavern. The candlelight flickered across our faces, the golden glow making the room feel cosier despite the cool night outside.

Daniel, ever the calm and composed one, was leaning back in his chair, sipping from his glass with a small smile as he watched the chaos unfold. Pierre was midway through recounting a wildly exaggerated story, gesturing animatedly with his pint in hand.

"And there I was," Pierre said, his voice rising dramatically, "clinging to the reins for dear life as the beast reared up—"

"You mean the horse?" Charles interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, the horse!" Pierre snapped, trying to maintain his dignity.

Charles snorted. "You called it a beast. Was it a horse or a dragon, Pierre?"

"Let him finish!" Carlos interjected, grinning as he leaned forward, clearly enjoying Pierre's flustered state.

"Thank you, Carlos," Pierre said, throwing an annoyed look at Charles. "As I was saying, the beast—fine, the horse—reared up, and I had to use all my strength to hold on. The crowd was screaming, the finish line was in sight, and—"