Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  Seeing him from far away had been bad enough as it was.

  The campus was stupidly big, so it didn’t make sense how often I spotted him between classes. Yet that happened for two days straight.

  No matter how far apart we were, it was like I had a beacon that pinged me when he occupied my surroundings. It poked me on the shoulder and went, there he goes, pay attention.

  A few times, he’d been so far away I could only tell it was him by the walk, the shades, and the company.

  It wasn’t always the four of them, but the Tarots never spent much time away from each other. And wherever they went, their wake rippled outwards, a reminder of who was in charge despite their age.

  Seeing them like that—cocky and unrepentant—brought back the memory of that guy handing Ambrose an envelope of cash.

  Then I started thinking about the show they’d put on.

  The language they’d used during that show—all their talk of destiny and fate.

  The names that sounded more and more like titles each time I caught another student whispering about the Tarots.

  They referred to Erik as the Fool.

  Chrom as Strength

  Baron as the Magician.

  Ambrose was, as always, the uncertainty. He didn’t generate gossip the way the other three did.

  Baron was apparently a font of knowledge that could get his hands on anything.

  Chrom had a reputation for thrashing people that got in his way both on and off the field. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that one. Other than the time I noticed his swollen knuckles, he seemed more like a lover than a fighter to me.

  Erik—to my utter disbelief—was supposedly the fun-loving daredevil that was always up for a good time.

  And Ambrose was...Ambrose. Quiet, menacing, watchful, the general behind the scenes that could make dreams or nightmares come true with a snap of his fingers.

  Thankfully, knowing what the other three were known as gave me enough information to dig deeper.

  That was why I was on my laptop looking up tarot cards. Something I’d thought of as a complete and utter joke since the time Carter had taken Danika and I to a supposed psychic.

  As if I needed some woman that smelled like stale sweat, mothballs, and a generous hint of liquor to tell me I would one day acknowledge the rebel at my core.

  Like, duh.

  Even then, Carter and I had wandered into her tent sharing a joint and wandering hands. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to look at me in my forever short skirts and cut-off top to know I wasn’t exactly heading towards life as a nun.

  I clicked around a few sites until one caught my eye. All the cards displayed featured roses in some way or another, and I thought about the tattoo on Ambrose’s neck.

  My attention settled on the Major Arcana, combing through the cards that matched Chrom, Baron, and Erik.

  Where are you, Ro? Which one of these is yours?

  Truly, I couldn’t give an accurate answer as to why it mattered.

  They had some weird influence over the school. So what? Beyond a bunch of grandstanding and throwing their weight around, it wasn’t like they were up to anything nefarious. This place could be in worse hands.

  Chrom was decent enough. Baron was cold, but otherwise reasonable.

  Except they were the poster boys for a package deal, and I hated Ambrose enough to outweigh how I felt about the rest.

  What about Erik? What about finding out why he acts the way he does?

  I chewed on my lip, eyes open but seeing nothing. That was an entirely different can of worms, and I didn’t have the strength or the energy to find a can opener that could crack open that horror show.

  My brother hated me so much he could barely look at me.

  That was a fact.

  I’d seen it.

  Remembering the snarl on his face made the vanilla ice cream I’d gorged myself on earlier voice its protest. My stomach rolled dangerously.

  So, I pushed those thoughts aside and went back to what I was doing.

  There was a tiny, tiny chance that figuring out how they did things would shine a new light on the situation with Erik.

  If it didn’t? At least I would’ve appeased my curiosity.

  I studied the rows of cards displayed on the screen.

  The Devil caught my eye first because I’d called him that in my head a time or two hundred. It didn’t fit though.

  For sure, he was awful. But devils didn’t turn down warm, willing bodies because they’d had too much to drink.

  They definitely didn’t drive shirtless across campus because their passenger had an injury she refused to leave alone.

  And...I was talking about myself in third person.

  I swear this man got me all kinds of twisted even when he wasn’t around.

  Focusing on the task at hand, my eyes followed my mouse cursor as I scrolled over the Emperor, the Hierophant, Justice, Death, Judge—

  My attention flicked back to the pale horse and its skeletal rider. The armor. The banner with its rose. The figure kneeling in the path of the horse, pleading. But for what? To be spared? To be chosen?

  The more I stared at the image, committing every detail to memory, the more something resonated inside me that this was his title.

  He was the quietest member of their group, yet he commanded the most respect. The others took their cues from him, not the other way around.

  That day on the pier, lingering on the outskirts of a party where neither of us seemed to belong, I’d felt it then.

  He was a force of nature waiting to strike. A tornado lingering somewhere between heaven and earth. An unstoppable swirl of destruction that—for all the world’s advancements—couldn’t be slowed or stopped, only endured.

  Ambrose LaCroix was inevitable, and I was the fool who kept putting herself in his path and wondering what it would be like to be swept away.

  The scary thing was?

  I wasn’t sure I knew how to stop.

  Dad(?): Your mother was released last night. We’ll be in town sometime this afternoon.

  That was the text I woke up to Saturday morning before I had a chance to inject coffee into my bloodstream.

  His name showing up on my screen wasn’t the part that surprised me.

  He’d texted several times throughout the week, checking up on me, making sure I had everything I needed, reminding me that I could keep using the card for whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.

  Hence the question mark I’d included beside his contact info in my phone.

  He was trying.

  I didn’t know why or how long it would last. But after a brand new, silver Jeep Wrangler got dropped off in front of the dorm last night—already signed over to me—it was impossible to claim he wasn’t putting in some effort.

  Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t make up for almost six years of absence. A lot had happened in that frame of time.

  Some of it wonderful.

  Some of it so painful I’d never even given Mom the complete truth.

  Whether I liked to dwell on it or not, their divorce was the catalyst for all those things taking place in my life. I don’t know how they decided who was going where between Erik and me. What I did know was that Dad had been content to ignore my existence until a cruel twist of fate brought him back into our lives.

  Now he was around, and like I said, he was trying.

  So, even if it made me seem like a naive fool, I would try also.

  I might never forgive him, but I also couldn’t purge the memories of when he’d been in my corner. The days when I’d still been his little girl before my teenage years came and our dynamic shifted forever.

  I remembered him putting his foot down when Mom’s suggested diets became downright painful to keep up.

  Keeping quiet about the cookbooks that always disappeared around the house, even when he found the pile hidden inside my closet.

  Threatening the silly boy at the playground who’d pulled my pigtails, much to t
he horror of the moms waiting in the wings.

  I could be mad about the shadow of disappointment he’d cast over me. We could stay at each other’s throats for the foreseeable future about one thing or another. Or I could take the olive branch being extended.

  Be the bigger woman and all that jazz I’d never quite believed in.

  So...yeah. He tried; I tried.

  Starting with not being intentionally disrespectful and calling him by his first name.

  My phone buzzed again. I sat up in bed, fingers twisting the sheets nervously as another message flashed across the screen. I hadn’t responded to the first because I didn’t know what to say.

  Like...what the hell did he mean by we? As in him and mom? Together?

  I glanced at my phone.

  Dad(?): Your mom wants to see you. What should I say?

  Okay. They were together. I pulled my tank top away from my chest to see if this alternate reality at least came with bigger boobs. No such luck.

  I also thought it was interesting that he was asking instead of telling.

  My mind got stuck on the strange idea of them being together, in each other’s company. Each time I typed out a message, my stomach cramped, and I deleted it. At this rate, I’d be in a walker before I said anything.

  I stared up at the ceiling, swallowed my nerves, and pressed the call button.

  The line rang once. Twice. My pulse jumped into my throat and I shifted around on the pillows, wanting to hang up and toss my phone across the room to avoid this.

  Dad answered on the third ring. “Emily?”

  He sounded surprised, and I could only shake my head at how strange our life was that he was surprised by his daughter calling him.

  “Who else would it be?” I asked, cringing as the words left my mouth.

  What happened to not being disrespectful?

  Who knew? Sometimes, I couldn’t help myself. Case in point, the devil whose flames I wanted to burn myself on.

  I braced for an angry retort.

  “You haven’t answered any of my texts,” he said, voice firm but not heated. “For all I knew, you changed your number.”

  So he wouldn’t have it, sat unspoken between us. Just like the six years we hadn’t talked about and couldn’t get back.

  There was an awkward pause, interrupted by a bright and cheery, “Hi, sweetie!”

  I froze at the sound of her voice. She sounded...normal. Happy. Like the events of last week hadn’t happened and she wasn’t in the company of a man she’d cried so many tears over I once wondered if she would mummify from lack of water.

  What the fuck was happening to my life these days?

  “Sweetie?” There was a thread of not-okay that time. “Are you still there?”

  Oh, right. This was a phone call. People normally didn’t go silent for several minutes.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yeah! Still here. Hey, Mom!”

  How are you?

  Why are you with Dad?

  You’d tell me if my life was a lie and I was actually stuck in a padded room, wouldn’t you?

  I didn’t ask those things. Call it making progress when it came to unexpected curveballs.

  There was some rustling through the line, then I could hear a low drone in the back before Dad’s voice came through again.

  “I’ve got you on speaker,” he said. “We’re flying in now, and your mother wants to do lunch.”

  “Lunch,” I repeated.

  “Are you too busy, sweetie? I know college can be hectic, but I wanted to catch you before the day got away from us.”

  They were acting so...normal. I picked at the hem of my shorts, mind spinning. A week ago, she hadn’t been willing to look at me. Now they wanted to do lunch?

  A trickle of hope tried to leak into my chest, and I reinforced the dam around my heart, refusing it access. The years might have changed some things, but I doubted their behavior was included. I knew this song and dance so well I could perform it in front of an audience.

  It wouldn’t be the first time they’d managed civility for a brief period before something started the countdown to their explosion. Erik and I usually took the brunt of it. Shared trauma brought some siblings together, but never us.

  He used to take shelter in his own bubble while I picked up Mom’s pieces.

  Now, things were different.

  I wasn’t sure either parent would give a damn about me after they wrecked each other.

  “Is...” I chewed on my lip, uncertain if I really wanted to ask. “Is Erik going to be there?”

  Mom sighed. “We’re not sure. We’ve been calling and texting, but he won’t answer. You know your brother. He marches to the beat of his own drum.”

  As badly as I wanted to see her, I wasn’t sure I could do this. I’d agreed to attend this school for me, and I needed to remember that. It wasn’t my job to patch our family back together or try to keep us from falling apart again.

  Especially when I had no guarantee that anyone would be in my corner the next time the temporary glue wore off and the downward slide began.

  Right before I lied and said I couldn’t make it, Renata flounced into my room without knocking and set about rifling through my dresser.

  A crazy idea popped into my head. “Can I bring someone?”

  Renata froze, lifting her head from her search. She shot daggers at me with her eyes and I offered up a tight grin.

  “Who?” Dad barked.

  I got the distinct impression he thought I was going to say a boy. My guess proved correct. When I told him I wanted to bring my roommate, I could sense the relieved sigh he didn’t let fall.

  “Can’t wait to meet her!” Mom chirped. “We’ll see you soon!”

  “Yep.” I glanced at Renata. Her hands were on her hips and she did not look happy. “See you soon.”

  I hung up and let the phone drop into my lap, giving my roommate my full attention.

  Her huff was every bit as dramatic as I expected. “What did you just sign me up for?”

  “Lunch with me and my parents.”

  “Oh, is that all? The way you looked when I walked in here, I thought we were about to end up on some pervert’s casting couch.”

  “Umm...eww. Why would I do something like that? And why would I ask you to come if I did?”

  “Please,” she scoffed. “Friends don’t let friends get tricked into anal and shitty contracts—no pun intended—so I’d obviously be your best bet to avoid that.”

  My nose scrunched. I chose to focus on the first part of that train wreck because I had no clue what to do with the rest.

  I offered her a cheeky grin. “So, we’re friends now, huh? When did that happen?”

  “I can’t say for sure.” Renata cocked her hip and inspected her nails. “You’re kind of like a rash that I just got used to scratching.”

  “You do wonderful things for my self-esteem.”

  “Don’t be such a diva. There’s only room for one of those in this partnership, and the deal might be off the table altogether if you don’t give back what you took from me.”

  I only smiled. “Agree to lunch first.”

  “Fine,” she huffed, making grabby hands. “Now, gimme.”

  Unfolding from the bed, I reached behind the dresser and handed her the silver flask I’d snatched last night after she came in drunk as a recently divorced housewife with the streaked mascara to match.

  Satisfaction flashed in her eyes before we made the exchange. Then her perfect brows dipped together. Renata shook the container and I laughed at the shock on her face.

  “You. Bitch!” she hissed, eyes wide.

  I lost it, doubling over in a fit of giggles as she took the top off and turned it upside down like she couldn’t believe what was happening.

  Renata stomped her foot. “You think this is funny? I should let you go to that stinking lunch by yourself!”

  “Too late,” I managed through my laughter, wiping at my eyes. “You
already agreed.”

  “I think I hate you for real.” But she was smiling. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish. It’s not like I can’t just fill this up again.”

  I bobbed my head in agreement. “You’re right. And it’s not like I can’t pour every drop of alcohol in here down the drain.” Her glare turned fierce. If she expected me to wither, she had the wrong one. “I’ve got better things to do than spend an entire night keeping your hair out of the toilet.”

  I’d claimed I would stay out of this.

  I lied.

  Renata looked me up and down with new eyes. “Maybe you’ll survive this place after all,” she muttered, stalking off with her middle finger in the air.

  I scoffed, but knew I deserved it for sticking my nose in her business. Couldn’t say I planned on stopping either. I didn’t need to see a catastrophe to step in. And if I had to be the most persistent rash she’d ever experienced, that’s exactly what I’d be.

  19

  Emily

  “What would’ve been so bad about a simple burger joint?” I grumbled as Renata and I hopped down from my Jeep a couple of hours later, landing in the valet parking of some hard-to-pronounce, all-day brunch place.

  Our hair was windswept from riding across town with the top down, and my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much I’d struggled to keep us in our lane.

  Renata hadn’t wasted time hooking her phone up to the Bluetooth, so I’d gotten a glimpse into that devious brain of hers while song after song on her playlist both surprised me and filled me with joy.

  I would say this: there was a lot of rap. And not just the safe for the radio wide release stuff, either. There had been songs from artists I never heard of, but they were all bangers.

  Getting to see Renata rap along to them, every word memorized? Priceless.

  In her breezy, black and yellow sundress, brown waves tied up in a milkmaid braid, and bug-eyed shades, she looked like a princess straight from the big screen. Now picture that princess rapping along to some of the foulest lyrics that had ever graced my ears.

  It was no wonder I’d been about to die from laughing.

  Renata joined me where I stood staring into what looked like a boring-ass restaurant.