There weren’t any answers to be found in my reflection, and with the steam clinging to the edges I looked like a ghost ready to attend her own funeral.
And hiding beneath the hat wasn’t going to work at all. I wasn’t big on fashion, but it would clash. Not a good clash either, like decorated pastry chefs going head-to-head, concocting sweets worth getting diabetes for.
This was more like how those puke orange vehicles clashed against the reality they were unfortunate enough to exist in.
I settled for the sloppy bun I’d attempted earlier. Stray, reddish-blonde hairs were already escaping by the time I slid into my sandals and went downstairs.
The rest of the dorm was obviously on Renata’s schedule. I didn’t hear a peep as I walked. And when the smell of brewing coffee led me to the kitchen, Martina jolted upright from the magazine she was reading, obviously not expecting anyone to be up and moving around this early.
“Miss Brennan,” she started. “My apologies, I wasn’t expecting you. Can I do anything for you?”
“Sure,” I chirped. “Keep doing what you were doing. I’m just grabbing some coffee and I’ll be out of your way.”
“Allow me.” She moved toward the coffee machine. “Cream and sugar?”
My eyes dropped to the ring on her finger. “I can pour my own coffee, Mrs...”
“Lopez,” she provided, glancing at the ring with a happy tilt to her lips.
A real smile wove its way onto my face at her expression. Despite everything, I loved coming across happily married people. It made me believe that there was something real out there, and that Mom and James—there we go—had either lost it due to how toxic they were for each other, or they’d never had it to begin with.
She ignored my protest and poured coffee into a travel mug that she slid towards me with a wink. “You look like you’ve got places to be.”
She pointed to the cream and sugar, but I needed the kick to stay awake. It also kept the craving for a joint at bay. I’d spent more time than I meant to getting ready, and I didn’t want to meet my advisor smelling like smoke.
“Just for the record,” I said, grabbing the mug. “You don’t have to wait on me. Even though I appreciate it, and the ice yesterday.”
Her smile made me think of Mom, which sent a dagger in my chest and deflated my good mood.
“Your concern is welcome, dear. But this has been my job for years and I haven’t done it grudgingly.”
I lifted a brow. “I imagine you’ve got some interesting stories tucked away.”
“Your imagination would be correct.” My phone buzzed and she spread her magazine again. “Maybe you should ask me about them sometime.”
Any inside information that would help me get through these next four years was better than nothing.
“Gladly,” I told her. “See you around, Ms. Lopez. Thanks for the coffee!”
Then I was out the door, briefly awed by the sight of the sun rising above the horizon. I shook my head, hardly believing this would be my view for the foreseeable future.
Taking a deep breath to settle my jumping nerves, I ordered a ride to the student center and hitched my backpack up on my shoulder, staring at the campus below.
Let’s do this.
Nothing could stop me from almost skipping around downtown several hours later.
Not the discomfort in my knee.
Not the strange looks I garnered from blinged-out housewives.
Not the low grumble in my stomach, complaining that coffee did not make for a suitable breakfast.
I wandered in and out of clothing stores where the starting price was three figures, compiling an all-new wardrobe.
No, it wasn’t the shopping spree that had me in such good spirits. Although going from place to place without having the card be declined helped.
Sealed in my mind’s eye was the printout of my class schedule. English, Spanish, Debate, Film, and History didn’t mean much to me. It was the Intro to the Culinary Arts in bold letters that brought a smile to my face each time I thought of it.
I was in. Just like that. I was one step closer to making the world a better place. I’d make awesome cupcakes. Let people eat awesome cupcakes. Prevent world war three and end world hunger with the above awesome cupcakes. All while staying true to myself.
World domination, here I come.
An actual giggle escaped from my lips as I darted into another shop that caught my eye. At least I tried to dart inside. Bouncing off a solid wall that cursed in response somewhat impeded my efforts.
“You,” a soft voice hissed.
Fate, you fickle bitch.
Gathering myself, I glanced up, dreading what I’d find.
Ambrose stood in the entryway, all mirrored shades and sour attitude. He looked delicious in his ripped, gray jeans and black t-shirt, the rose tattoo on his neck standing out like a middle finger for the whole world.
Defiance. Every inch of him screamed it.
My lady bits gave a happy sigh even as I inwardly bitched at them about being total traitors.
I couldn’t see his eyes, so it made no sense that I felt them narrowing on me, and yet...
I fidgeted with the bags in my hand, crinkling the plastic. There was no chance he knew just how naked I was beneath this dress, but his gaze was a spotlight revealing more than I wanted him to see.
Folding my arms, I briefly glanced at the guy beside him—taller, more muscled, handsome in an All-American way with his messy, blonde hair and blue eyes—before focusing my glare on Ambrose.
He unsettled me, and since I refused to ever let him know that, I went on the offensive.
“I don’t remember ordering anything today,” I said sweetly, tapping my chin. “So I’m having a hard time figuring out why you’re in my face, delivery boy.”
He glared.
I smiled.
In my head, I wrapped duct tape around the mouth of the small voice that heard Renata telling me my fake smile looked painful.
“Fuck-hot and angry,” said the blonde at his side, offering me a smile. “If you’re not going to speak up, Ro, I’ll for sure take this one off your hands.”
I probably should’ve been offended that his friend thought I could be traded like property. Somehow, the muscle that jumped in Ambrose’s jaw made the disrespect worth it.
“Why are we standing in the doorway like a bunch of fools?” said a dry voice from over his shoulder.
The speaker moved to Ambrose’s other side. He wore accountant-chic with his khaki pants, fitted polo, and glasses. The dimple in his chin and the lean build made me wonder how often he heard Clark Kent jokes. Dark eyes peered at me clinically.
“Who’s the ghost?” he asked.
Damn it, Renata. I knew it!
Ambrose swiped a hand through his chocolate locks. “She’s no one.”
His dismissal should’ve meant nothing. We’d interacted twice, and both instances had been unpleasant. But the anger surged anyway. I welcomed it even.
Anger was a distraction from the fact that three guys who looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine stood in front of me, yet I was drawn to the one that continued to be intentionally cruel.
“What’s wrong, Ro?” I said, voice husky. I thought I caught his eyes flaring behind the shades, but I couldn’t be sure. “You don’t want to introduce me to the boy band?”
Sparks of pleasure danced beneath my skin while his fists clenched and the other two looked between us. I hadn’t forgotten the blood on his knuckles from before. But I couldn’t stop antagonizing him either.
Poking at his anger reminded me of the amusement park Danika and I used to spend so much time at. The park still had the old-style, wooden roller coasters that jostled us until we were bruised, and the ride always seemed one turn away from falling apart. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
I felt that same way with his glare fixed on me. Except adding the lust to an already volatile combination made the entire thing incred
ibly intoxicating.
If he got mad enough to put his hands on me, how long would it take for him to discover my nakedness?
Would I let him, or would I fight back?
“As riveting as this whole thing is,” said Glasses, “we’ve got places to be. So, if you two could stop eye-fucking each other sometime this year.”
I started to protest. His words were too close to the truth and I didn’t want them to be. Another masculine voice reached my ears at that moment, robbing me of speech.
“Ambrose is eye-fucking someone? I’ve gotta see—”
Erik’s face appeared over their combined shoulders.
Something inside my chest shriveled up and died at the same time the interest in his eyes was forcibly extinguished.
“You were right,” he said, deadpan, staring through me like I didn’t exist. “It is no one. Let’s get out of here.”
I stumbled. His words were a physical blow that cracked my chest open and left me bleeding out for all of them to see.
Erik pushed through the other three and walked off without giving me a second glance.
Tears formed before I could stop them. I balled my fists so tight they trembled, but at least the evidence of my pain didn’t fall down my cheeks.
The other two left wordlessly, leaving me bared and humiliated in front of Ambrose.
Who just stood there.
Staring down at me.
Silently feasting on my sadness.
“I told you he was fine,” he said so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
Then he was gone, swallowed up by the crowds and the sunny day I couldn’t feel against my chilled flesh.
I ventured into the store on autopilot. Made my way to the register with clothes I didn’t remember grabbing. Paid with money that wasn’t mine, and prepared to leave, still in a daze, when the woman at the register stopped me.
“You must be a certain kind of brave,” she said, eyes hooded with sympathy. “Or crazy, standing in their way like that.”
“They’re just guys,” I muttered, finding my voice. “They don’t own this town.”
She clucked her tongue. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Tarots and their families built this town. They’ve owned every block and tree for generations.”
Tarots.
They were the ones Dad warned me about.
I wanted to care about their title. But as I wandered out of the door, I couldn’t let go of how she’d used they.
Which begged the question: was the warning meant for the four of them as a whole?
Or was it so I would stay away from the wrath of a brother who still hated me when I’d never given him a reason to?
10
Ambrose
Don’t ask.
You don’t care.
She’s none of your fucking concern.
All those things were true.
So why did my attention keep sliding across the booth to Erik?
We sat in our favorite, hole-in-the-wall, Mexican restaurant, waiting on our food to arrive. Chrom was single-handedly demolishing the chips and salsa. Baron had his phone out, probably adding something to his impeccable schedule.
It had taken Erik all of five minutes to pull one of the waitresses onto his lap, and in between staring him down I caught her tables looking this way, annoyed and impotent.
They couldn’t make a fuss and risk getting on our bad side. So, they sat there waiting on desserts or checks or whatever the fuck while Erik played where are my fingers beneath the girl’s skirt.
Chrom leaned closer, crunching another chip in my ear. “You’re acting weird. More so than usual.”
“I’m not acting weird.”
“That’s why you’ve been staring a hole in the side of Erik’s face since we ran into that chick outside of DaVinci’s?”
I tore my eyes away, taking a sip of water as if he wouldn’t see through my bullshit. Sure enough, he was grinning when I glanced at him again. This was the problem with having friends who had known you since you were in diapers. Deceiving them was difficult as hell, if not outright impossible.
Although there was something they hadn’t caught me in just yet.
Fate willing, they never would.
“You’ve never been big on chatter,” he said. “But you also haven’t said a word since then, either. I don’t think you even noticed that Baron ordered for you.”
That would explain why I didn’t remember asking for the water I was drinking. Whoops.
“Well?” he continued. “Who is she?”
“No one,” I said for the second time today. It was still as much of a lie as it had been the first time. I needed something stronger to wash the taste away.
He tossed a chip in the air and caught it, speaking with his mouth full. “You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you? You looked at her like she was a whole meal and you were starving, Ro. I’ve never seen you like that.”
I grunted, glaring towards the kitchen as if I could make our food appear faster. Fuck, I would almost carry it out myself to avoid this conversation.
How could I have done anything but stare? Emily Brennan was a pain in my ass, but there was no denying that she was absolutely stunning.
I’d caught sight of her before she bumped into me with those soft curves. That tight, black dress against her pale skin gave her an ethereal quality, like something supernatural sweeping through town, shopping bags in hand.
“You’re imagining things,” I told Chrom when he elbowed me in the ribs.
He scoffed. “Really? So I’m imagining that Erik is fingering some chick in broad daylight? Which is a bit much, even for him.”
We both looked that way.
The girl blushed at the attention and hid her face in her hands. She didn’t move though. Erik peered out at us from behind the curtain of her hair, a challenge on his face.
“I’ll ask again.” Chrom’s expression sobered. “Who. Is. She?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, not knowing what to say. She’d been all but forgotten after our first meeting. Since Erik never talked about her, I never saw a reason to acknowledge her existence either.
Except now she was here, and he didn’t seem inclined to share. I needed to talk to him about this alone, but that came with its own set of problems.
Namely, I wasn’t sure what would happen between the two of us behind a closed door before I could get the sight of her strength wavering out of my fucking head.
Chrom settled back in his seat and said, “Since when do we keep secrets from each other?”
Fucking fuck.
I opened my mouth, unsure what was about to come out of it when my eyes drifted to the front.
A second later, the chimes above the door sounded and in walked the very object of my frustration. And lust.
Possibly more of the latter given how my dick throbbed at the sight of her.
It was nearly a full house in the restaurant. That didn’t stop her from finding me across the room almost immediately.
Our eyes locked.
Her lips parted.
Shock? Frustration? I didn’t know. But I knew I wanted to lunge from this booth, guide her somewhere deserted, and find out what her lips tasted like.
Emily caught herself, features blanking. She glanced over her shoulder, and I knew she considered walking away. There were other restaurants that didn’t risk the hostility Erik and I represented.
Putting myself in the same category as him annoyed me. I didn’t make her nearly cry.
What about making her walk for miles in the dark, uphill?
I didn’t have an answer.
Instead, I watched her talk to the hostess and point to the other end of the restaurant, as far away from us as she could get.
I stared at the sway of her ass while they walked that way. She sat at a table alone, facing us even though she quickly buried her head in her phone.
Baron clapped his hands together, and still, I didn’t look away.
Erik rolled his eyes, hand reappearing from beneath the girl’s skirt. He lifted her by the hips and put her on the floor, giving her a pat on the ass so she would wobble away.
“Have I told you recently that you’re a stick in the mud?” Erik asked.
“Yesterday, in fact.” Baron adjusted his glasses. “Because how dare I not want you smoking in the house...”
Emily lifted her head to speak to the waitress and I stopped listening. She flashed a small smile at the retreating woman and started glancing over the menu, brows drawn. I bet she hadn’t expected it to be in Spanish.
“Move,” I said to Baron out of nowhere, cutting into their conversation.
He looked confused but did as I said, giving me room to slide out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Chrom chuckled. “He’s gotta check up on No One.”
Baron frowned, oblivious.
Erik’s head swung around before his body went stiff. I walked by and he caught me on the arm.
He glared.
I smirked.
The world kept spinning.
He let go like I knew he would.
I made my way to Emily’s table, hovering over her while she sighed, refusing to look at me.
My hand landed on the empty chair.
“That seat is taken,” she said quickly.
I sat down and lifted a brow.
She huffed. “You really don’t listen, do you?”
“What happened between you two?”
No reason to pussyfoot around the parasite that had attached itself to my brain. Erik could be an asshole when the situation called for it, but he usually wasn’t this cruel. Pretending someone you shared blood with didn’t exist wasn’t an accident.
There had to be a reason.
Emily glanced up at me, the heat in her blue eyes making me glad she couldn’t see my dick twitch beneath the table.
“Whatever juicy story you’re looking for,” she said, “you aren’t going to get it. Erik and I never got along. The twin thing didn’t help.” Her focus drifted to where he sat before coming back to me. “We argued like cats and dogs over anything and everything. Then one day it stopped being petty arguments and he hated me. That’s it.”
Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1) Page 8