PRETEND PRINCESS のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 161 - チャプター 170

Yuki's POVIt had been a month.An entire month since I got fired.A month since the breakdown, the jasmine tea, the elderly man who mistook me for someone else and clutched my hand like it could keep him tied to the real world. A month since I called Lily, blubbering like a baby and thanking her for being the superhero I could never be.Now I was. here.I bowed slightly, as required, and presented the order slip to the old lady sitting at the corner table, her back bent as though she'd been waiting since the war. "Sumimasen," I said, struggling carefully to be polite. "Omatase shimashita. I'll get your tea ready in a moment."She smiled pleasantly and patted my hand. "Arigatou, ne."I smiled back, hiding how close to collapse I was.This was job number four in the space of one month. I had worked my way up from hotel desk boy to ramen stall helper to florist helper, and now to a waiter in this fusion-style restaurant in the city center. It was a lovely, busy place created for tourist

Lily's Pov The spoon slid on the pale blue porcelain plate as I dropped it again, cringing."Ugh," I muttered, holding my stomach. The scrambled eggs were perfectly okay—fluffy, pale yellow, and appropriately seasoned—and yet, the sight of them nauseated me.For the fifth day in a row, breakfast failed. I pushed the plate away and ran a sweaty palm over my forehead. I was heavy, slow. Nausea clung to me like a cloud now, ebbed in waves. My chest felt tightened, my skin hyper-reactive, and there was that odd craving I'd felt the previous night—chocolate and pickles.What was wrong with me?I leaned my arms against the kitchen counter, taking a deep breath. Maybe it was a stomach bug. Or stress. God only knew I had that in abundance these days."Lily? You okay, babe?" Dan's voice filtered out from the hallway. He entered the kitchen, his face radiating new-shaven freshness, dressed in one of his impeccably-tailored suits.He looked like all I wasn't at the time: cool, level-headed, and

Creed’s Pov I kissed her.Again.And again.And again.Her lips were soft, yielding, and sort of dry at the edges. There was this faint taste of strawberry lip gloss, and she smelled of cinnamon soap. Her hair, that unruly orange mess of curls, rubbed against my skin. Her freckled nose bumped against mine. She moaned softly against my lips. Her arms encircled my neck like she was hanging on for dear life, and I—I didn't feel anything at all.Anything.I was trying, really. Desperate. I pulled her in closer, intensified the kiss, put my hand on her waist, my mind shrinking back with some sort of reaction. Something. A flash, a spark, even a pang. But my body? My body felt as if it was betraying me, like it was constructed of stone. Cold, heavy stone.Her skin was warm, I knew that. Objectively, she was warm. Beautiful, even, with her unique face and smooth curves and the way her voice sort of curled over when she spoke. But to me, she was. cold. Greasy. Not actually, but that inside

Yuki's POVI never thought I'd actually give a damn this much about keeping a job.Correction. I never thought I'd give a damn about anything again after Creed and working with that monster shenglee.And yet here I was, in the back of the café, sweeping the floor like it was the freaking Louvre, pretending like my life wasn't a broken glass waiting for the next crash. I'd spent the last three weeks trying to fix everything I'd broken when those kids' parents nearly sued the café. Teens, it seems, don't take well to being told to vacate the premises—even when they're being total jerks.I'd messed up. Big time. But I was trying.I'd been working overtime, smiling till my face ached, loading dishes till my bones hated me. The customers had noticed. Heck, even the manager had noticed. He gave me this half-pat on the back last Friday and grunted, "Not bad, Yuki." From him? That was like a love letter.Today had been a long day. I'd worked open to close. I'd taken a break only twice—once to

Creed's POVI should have stayed home. But I didn't.I was now sitting at a posh restaurant with Carrie, smiling and nodding as she went on about birdhouses."You should definitely make one. A birdhouse," she said, stirring her wine, her voice bright with forced happiness. "Your balcony is always covered in birds. I think they like you better.""Yeah," I grumbled. "Maybe."I didn't care. Not about birds. Not about the dumb balcony. About anything, really.It had been seven days. One whole week. Seven days since I kissed Carrie. Since I quit. I hadn't kissed her since. Not once. Not because she repulsed me. No, Carrie was all a guy like me was supposed to want—shiny, beautiful, planned. She looked good on paper. She looked even better on my arm. But she wasn't.She wasn't him.I had not slept. Not actually. I was thinking constantly about Yuki. The way his eyes fluctuated between light and absolute nothingness. The way he moved as though he was always on the edge of exploding but would