"I have to kiss you."
Silence followed.
Maximilian's face went scarlet. He studied her expression carefully… searching for embarrassment, longing, anything. There was nothing. She looked like a scientist about to peer into a microscope.
He pressed his lips into a rigid line. "There have to be other methods," he said stiffly. "Can't we—discuss this rationally?"
"Don't act coy now, Professor," Catherine replied, yanking him another inch closer by his tie. "If hatred could break this curse, I'd be orbiting Mars by now. Unfortunately, it doesn't." She grimaced. "I don't enjoy this either. So brace yourself. Let's see if you turn into a frog."
She rose onto her tiptoes, eyes wide open, lips pressed together like she was about to swallow poison. Her entire face screamed martyrdom.
Maximilian grabbed her wrist. "This isn't— I do want a kiss from you," he snapped, frustrated, "but not like—"
Their lips hovered an inch apart.
The door burst open.
