by Kylie Key
Table of Contents
My high school royal boyfriend
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
My high school royal boyfriend
Two people with secret identities...
Can anything between them be real?
ALEX
A tragedy at Langley Estate puts my family in the spotlight
Hounded by a ruthless press, it’s decided I should disappear for awhile
That’s how I’ve ended up on the other side of the world
At River Valley High
The new exchange student from England...
BLAIRE
I’m Covington Prep royalty, but after being accused of stealing
My world comes crashing down
I’ve shamed my family name
And I’m finishing my senior year at River Valley High
But incognito
No one can know who I really am
Leaving my privileged life isn’t easy
And falling for Alex certainly wasn’t in the plans
But how can we be in love...
When Blaire Ashley and Alex Lord aren’t even real people?
Copyright © 2020 by Kylie Key
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover photo by Nathan Dumlao
y o u
a r e
e n o u g h
Other Books by Kylie Key
THE YOUNG LOVE SERIES
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08454JT1D
The Songs We Sing
The Path We Take
The Lies We Tell
The Hearts We Break
The Dreams We Share
THE BOYFRIEND SERIES
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B087KW9P14
My High School Christmas Boyfriend
(RIVER VALLEY HIGH)
My High School Fake Boyfriend
My High School Billionaire Boyfriend
My High School Rebel Boyfriend
Chapter 1
The face in the mirror stared back at me, unfamiliar except for the honey brown eyes, though without eyeliner and bare of mascara, they looked smaller than usual. My heart skipped a beat. Oh my. This was really happening. This was me now.
The new me.
My hand came up to feather the sides of the short hair skimming my shoulders, a light brown that was apparently my natural color. Not amber, or golden, or chocolate, but plain light brown. It seemed vastly disappointing—I’d been various shades of ash to platinum blonde to icy balayage since my sixth grade class photos.
And my skin was clear of makeup, the splattering of freckles across my cheeks, the annoying pores on the sides of my nose, and the pesky red pimples on my forehead in their full glory. My daily ritual of applying layers to cover those flaws was going to be a thing of the past.
Yes, I was erasing my old habits, forced to change who I was, becoming someone new.
Someone new?
Or someone old?
“Gorgeous, sweetheart.” Margaret’s voice was full of forced enthusiasm. One hand rested on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, but her reflection showed a woman on the edge of sadness, her eyes a little tentative.
“Here you go, darling.” My mother, on the other hand, was severe and brisk. She handed me a glasses case, plain dark brown, which seemed like a forewarning of my life to come.
I opened it, taking out the folded pair of glasses and putting them on. I blinked as my vision sharpened, the large tortoise shell rectangular frames covering half of my face. My heart sunk. I looked like a nerd. The basic frames were thick and clunky and unbranded, and already they hurt behind my left ear. I’d worn contacts since the age of thirteen, resorting to my glasses only if it was absolutely certain that there was no chance of anyone seeing me in them. Including my own parents. Only once had I worn them in public, and that’s when I’d been in Florida visiting my sick grandfather. I’d had a wickedly sore eye and couldn’t put my contacts in. Luckily, only family saw me.
But here I was, now confined to wearing them full time, that is if I actually wanted to see anything. Another glance revealed that the blemishes on my forehead were even worse in 20/20 vision.
“You look very smart,” Mom said, without any sentimentality. It was a euphemism for You look like a geek.
I smiled tightly, making my lips disappear. Another unattractive look. Oh well, it was pretty certain nobody was going to be looking at me anyway. Other than to point or laugh, I imagined. I was going to be labeled as one of those kids I’d always shunned. Kids who walked around with a stack of books and joined robotics and debate and math club.
My chin wobbled, and Margaret’s arms immediately enveloped me. But it wasn’t enough to stop the flow of tears. Taking off my glasses, I snuggled into her chest.
“It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” Margaret soothed, keeping her voice steady. “It’ll be fine. It will work out, I promise you.”
Was it crazy to think that a new haircut and a pair of glasses was going to make me unrecognizable?
Well...it had worked for Superman.
I nodded, her florally scent a comforting and familiar smell. I needed it. I needed her. Margaret, it seemed, was the only one who believed in me. Our housekeeper, of all people!
My life had turned upside down a week ago. The Fall Fundraiser, hosted by Whittakers at the Covington Heights Country Club, was one of the highlights on the social calendar, a glorious night of glitz and glam where we got to dress up in beautiful gowns and parade around like princesses, knowing it was all for the good of the children’s hospital.
My Mom and Uncle Matt jointly ran the Whittakers empire that had been established by my great-great Grandad Peter. The premium ice cream company had made the town of River Valley famous and the family billions. Alongside my older brother, Theo, and my cousin Jack, we were the next generation of Whittakers, and would be expected to take over one day.
The school was buzzing about the Fundraiser, many of the seniors were going with their parents, and those who weren’t would be at the party at Devon Villente’s house afterwards. I couldn’t wait to wear my new gold sequinned dress which had a fitted front and low draping back. It had been tailor made and clung to me like a second skin, accentuating my curves which, probably for the first time in my life I was grateful for. Sure, my friends Mikayla and Ginny might be a Size 2 and Size 4, but this design made me feel confident about myself. My mother often joked that my D cups were what women willingly paid good money for. Yeah, maybe in their twenties; in high school they were downright embarrassing. Especially in PE class. It was a mystery how I’d inherited Grandma Nancy’s ‘figure.’
Mikayla wasn’t going to the Fundraiser, but was getting enthusi
astic about the party at Devon’s and was talking about some games they had planned, something to do with the hot tub by the sound of it.
“What bikini are you wearing?” I asked her as we walked towards the cafeteria.
“My palm tree one,” she said, and I involuntarily screwed up my nose. Ugh, the thin spaghetti straps made her collar bones stick out and her arms look like twigs.
“Nice,” I said, “but didn’t you wear it to the last party?”
Mikayla hmpphed and pouted. “No.”
“Oh. Thought you did.”
A loud squeaking noise came over the intercom, followed by a tapping sound. Principal Porter and her secretary Mrs O’Donald still didn’t have a clue on how to use it properly. The announcement informed us that there would be a locker check, and everyone was to head to their lockers immediately, the seniors to be done first.
A stunned murmur rocked the corridors as we all reversed direction. What were they checking for, everyone wanted to know—drugs, alcohol, weapons being the obvious contraband. Covington Prep, like most schools, had its fair share of drama, but the exclusivity of the school meant most kids adhered to the rules. Tuition was not cheap here.
The Principal had organized teams of teachers to do the checks, and as Troy pointed out, there were no police dogs so it can’t have been drugs they were looking for. Jokes abounded that so-and-so shouldn’t have threatened to burn down the school, and others protested that our privacy was being violated.
I was hardly worried. My locker was basically a giant cosmetic bag—the teachers wouldn’t find much in there, other than an abundance of lip colors, eye makeup, perfumes and a hair straightener. Oh, and string lights, you know, that made it twinkly in there.
Mikayla scooted off down the corridor to her locker and I leaned against my door, chatting to the kids around me, the rumor spreading that someone’s earrings or necklace had been stolen. Gold, diamonds, sapphires, the story grew wilder as we waited for the search patrol to reach us. The hushed whisper revealed that it was Zara Raymond’s 18k gold diamond encrusted bracelet that had gone missing, one she was going to wear to the Fall Fundraiser. It was worth ten thousand dollars, or so the story went. Why on earth she had brought it to school confounded most people, but as Zara was a boarder, the more likely question was why weren’t they searching the dormitories.
I was super relaxed as Mr Bridgeland directed me to open my locker, not even bothering to look in when he did. Good luck with him rummaging through my makeup selection, stash of candy and the odd book.
“Miss Pennington.” The voice immediately scared me, a sternness to it that I wasn’t expecting. “Could you open this please?”
I peered around the side of my locker door, crazily wondering if he wanted me to open my new moisturizing balm. The jar wasn’t large enough to hide a bracelet, earrings maybe, but not a bracelet. Not that I had a bracelet to hide.
The dark blue velvet box sitting on my shelf was not mine, though I recognized the iconic packaging as belonging to the exclusive jewelery shop in town, a place where my mother often shopped. For a moment I thought it must be a surprise for tomorrow’s Fundraiser.
“Please, Miss Pennington. Now.” It was a direct order, with not a hint of amusement.
Wordlessly, I picked up the box, my pounding heart anticipating that it was the gold drop earrings that would be a perfect match for my dress. Though, in my heart of hearts I knew it was the wrong size for earrings. The rectangular size was perfect for a bracelet.
Adrenaline rushed through me, my gasp in unison with the others who were peeking over Mr Bridgeland’s shoulder. A gold and diamond bracelet rested on the black satin interior.
A murmur vibrated down the corridor, my mind blank and numb, unable to think of the reason that Zara Raymond’s bracelet might be in my locker. Could she have gotten confused and thought her locker was mine? No, hers was on the opposite wall, around the corner. Had she asked me to mind it for her? No, we’d not spoken to each other recently.
“Yes! That’s it!” Zara appeared, eyes wide as she identified the jewelery as her own.
My mouth gaped open, my words stalled in my throat as my world went all fuzzy and blurry as if I wasn’t wearing my contacts. I tried to make sense of the bracelet dangling from Mr Brigeland’s thick fingers.
Ginny, Mikayla and a row of faces were staring at me open mouthed as I was suddenly flanked by Principal Porter and Mr Bridgeland, and escorted along the hallways and down a set of stairs in a walk of shame. I was pushed into an office and made to sit down on a black leather chair with wooden arms. Mr Bridgeland, a science teacher, was standing over me, the blue velvet case clutched between his hands.
“I didn’t take it,” I said indignantly, looking behind to see the hovering outline of Zara and her trademark ballerina bun behind the vertical blinds.
Principal Porter cleared her throat and clasped her hands together, and from then I barely registered what was happening. Chaos, mainly. I remembered my parents arriving, Mom’s high pitched voice on the verge of cracking, Dad speaking in an uncharacteristically low tone, my frantic denial of knowing anything about the bracelet.
That’s when my brain clicked...that the bracelet had been found in my locker and horrifically, I was being accused of stealing it.
“What? NO! NO, I DIDN’T TAKE IT! You think I took it? Are you crazy?”
I protested my innocence until I was raspy and dying for a glass of water. Each cry, each plea fell on deaf ears. Eventually, Principal Porter dismissed me.
“I DID NOT STEAL THAT BRACELET!” I continued to declare that I was innocent all the way home, Mom looking pained and distressed as she drove with intense concentration.
“Mom!” I cried as we bustled our way inside, “You believe me, don’t you?” Though, as she poured herself a glass of wine, her hand trembling and her face flushed, I had a distinct feeling that she didn’t. “This is insane!”
No amount of shouting or screaming could wipe the disappointment from Mom’s face, and my pounding heart threatened to break my rib cage. Nothing I said could placate her, an unfamiliar gravely voice continually repeating, “The evidence was clear, Blair. The bracelet was in your locker.”
“Mom, why would I steal a bracelet? Tell me!” The absurdity of the situation was obvious, wasn’t it?
“You’ve always been one for attention seeking,” Mom said, and I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.
My initial shock was now replaced by worry. Was I going to be convicted of theft? How outrageous was that? Me, Blair Pennington, whose parents ran a billion dollar company, who lived in the lap of luxury, who had a generous credit card limit, who didn’t even wear diamonds! My favorite stone was an amethyst, the gem of my birth month, February. Since I was little Mom had always bought me amethyst jewelery, telling me it was special to me. I had believed her.
“Mom? This isn’t going to the police, is it?” I imagined myself in an orange jumpsuit behind prison walls. I didn’t suit orange—or stripes.
Mom put her finger up to her lips in a shush motion as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone.
Okay, I admit I haven’t been a total angel. Yes, I have flouted the conditions of my driver permit by driving after midnight and carrying more passengers in my back seat than is legal. And I may have texted while driving, once or twice. And I may have sneaked alcohol into the Homecoming Dance, but everyone did!
But stealing...no, I would never, have never stolen. That I can promise you.
Mom put her phone down and pulled off her drop pearl and diamond earrings. See, I didn’t need to steal diamonds—my mother had them in abundance!
“Your father is talking to Principal Porter and the Raymonds now,” she said. “Trying to convince them not to call the police. That it’s all been a misunderstanding.”
“There’s no way I could have gotten Zara’s bracelet. I never go to the dorms,” I protested again. Mom’s Botoxed face couldn’t show much expression, but the dis
approval in her eyes was unmistakable.
“He’s talking to members of the Board now.” She took a gulp of her wine, and demanded my phone as she picked up hers which was ringing again.
I slipped off my shoes and ran upstairs. Mom might have thought she had been clever to take my phone, but I could message my friends on my iPad. I would have witnesses, plenty of them to prove my innocence; there was just no way I could have stolen the bracelet.
I imagined that there would be a rush of online messages to me, but strangely my inbox was empty, save for one lone one from Jack: I’m hearing weird stories, what’s happening?
I checked all social media, but it’s like I had been ghosted. A sinking realization hit me because I knew what that meant—everyone was talking about me behind my back.
Yes, that all happened a week ago.
And since that time my life had been completely turned upside down.
The online silence had only been temporary. It exploded overnight. That Blair Pennington was a thief, a common thief, a kleptomaniac stealing from a fellow student. The disgust, the vileness, I was called every name under the sun.
Terrible you might say, and yes it was. But worst was the betrayals.
Because I discovered that my friends were not friends at all.
Mikayla, Ginny, Annabelle and Deveney had mysteriously gone mute in my defence. There was talk that I’d been acting strange, that I’d been secretive. I tried to tell them that the only secret I’d been keeping was about my dress. You see, I’d flown on the Whittaker private jet to meet the designer, the custom made gown a one-off. I wanted to wow everyone on the Fundraiser night.
“Surely it’s just a misunderstanding and your Mommy and Daddy will sort things out for you,” Mikayla had said, and the snide remark and smug smile had made my heart beat faster, ridiculously fast.
“Yeah, the Whittaker name will come to your rescue,” Ginny said. Yes, thick with sarcasm.
“Money talks, it always does,” Deveney said.
Okay, I wasn’t the top of the class, and you might say that I lived a somewhat fairytale existence, but I wasn’t stupid. Whereas I had hoped for empathy and support from my friends, all I could sense was the smell of jealousy—and it was rank. It cut through my heart with a sharpness that was debilitating. I literally froze, my brain coming to the unavoidable conclusion that I had been set up.