Twisted Palace

by Erin Watt

  Wade stops short, his eyes falling to the long white box in his hands. “Really? They say that?”

  Reed and Wade exchange alarmed glances, and I nearly die laughing at them.

  “You’re an evil woman.” Wade marches past me without even handing me the box.

  We all turn at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Easton and the twins appear, each clad in his own tux.

  Sawyer nods when he sees me and Wade. “Finally. Let’s get this show on the road. We need to pick up Lauren.”

  Everyone marches out the door, with Easton and me taking up the rear. Smiling, he reaches out and flicks my skirt. “I thought you’d go for something slinky and sexy.”

  “I’ve worn slutty clothes for a long time. I’ve never done princess.” I shake out the dress, which I fell in love with the moment I removed it from the box. The bare shoulders give me all the sexy I need, but even if it were high-necked and long-sleeved, I’d still be obsessed with the full skirt and the thousands of layers of chiffon that swish around my legs as I walk.

  Easton grins. “You’re always doing the opposite of what anyone expects. The girls will be killing themselves.”

  “I’m just doing what I want. They should, too.” I didn’t choose the dress because I wanted to tweak anyone’s noses at Astor. I picked this one because it looked like a dream—and if this is the only Winter Formal I’ll ever be attending with Reed, even though he isn’t technically my date, I wanted to wear the most beautiful gown on the earth.

  “Doesn’t matter. If you wore a tight dress, they’d call you a slut, and now they’re going to call you something else, but I’m going to take care of you while Reed’s away.”

  Easton’s declaration makes me feel warm inside. Not because I need watching over, but because I sense he’s growing up a little. In a burst of insight, I realize that Easton needs someone to watch over and take care of. I’m not going to be that person, but until he finds her, we can watch out for each other.

  “And I’ll take care of you, too,” I promise.

  “Deal.”

  We shake on it.

  Steve and Callum wander outside just as we reach the courtyard. “You kids taking off now?” Callum calls.

  “Yup,” Easton answers.

  Wade stops by Steve’s Bugatti. He smooths a hand above the hood, not daring to lay his palm on the steel. “I think you should let me drive this, Mr. O’Halloran. For your daughter’s sake.”

  “I think you should stop breathing on my two-million-dollar vehicle, Mr. Carlisle, and take my daughter to the dance.”

  Holy mother of Mary. I gape at my father. “Two million?” I echo.

  All of the men look at me like I’m ridiculous for asking, but they’re the ridiculous ones. Two million bucks for a car? These people have way too much money.

  “It was worth a shot.” Grinning, Wade jogs to his own sports car and holds open the door for me. “Your chariot awaits.”

  

  “Hey listen,” Wade says fifteen minutes later, as we idle behind a long line of cars waiting to turn into the country club. “I want you to know that you can come to me if you have any problems.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Next semester,” he clarifies. “After, ah, Reed’s gone.”

  “What problems do you anticipate me having? Like if I forget a tampon, will you have extras in your locker?”

  His head jerks around. “Reed keeps tampons in his locker for you?”

  “No, you dumbass, but that’s about how stupid your statement is. I can take care of myself.” His words remind me eerily of Easton’s, though, and a note of suspicion strikes me. “Did Reed put you up to this?”

  Wade looks out the window. “Did Reed put me up to what?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  His shoulders sag. “Okay, maybe.”

  “Is he going to dictate instructions from his prison cell like some mafia don?”

  Reed’s over-protectiveness will probably only get worse when he can’t see me every day. I guess it should make me feel suffocated, and for some girls, maybe it would—but for me, it’s comforting. I’m not going to let him control my life, but I don’t mind the gesture.

  “I dunno. Maybe?” Wade seems unbothered by this. He shifts and slides a sly glance in my direction. “So…conjugal visits?”

  I roll my eyes. “What is it with you guys and conjugal visits?”

  “Dunno,” he says again. “Seems kinky.” His eyes become unfocused as he engages in some fantasy regarding jail cells and sex games.

  And because I don’t want to sit next to Wade while he’s playing some porno in his head, I ask, “Speaking of kinky, what’s up with you and Val?”

  His lips tighten into a rigid line.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I taunt, but his mouth stays glued shut.

  He’ll talk about anything but Val, huh? Very, very interesting.

  “Fine, don’t talk, but just know that Val’s an awesome girl. Don’t play with her.” It’s not an overt threat, but Wade should know me by now. I’ll hurt him if he hurts her.

  “Is that what you think?” he bursts out. “That I’m the problem? Women,” he mutters and then adds something under his breath that I can’t make out.

  I raise my eyebrows, but he turns up the music, and I drop the subject because his outburst is answer enough.

  By the time we make the turn into the Bayview Country Club property, Wade’s natural good humor has resurfaced. He loses his stiffness, and his characteristic easy smile is back on his face. “Sorry I snapped at you. Val and I are…complicated.”

  “I’m sorry I pried. I just love Val and want her to be happy.”

  “How about me?” he says in mock offense. “Do you want me to be happy?”

  “Of course.” I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I want everyone to be happy.”

  “Even Jordan?”

  “Especially her,” I tell him as he pulls up in front of the club’s entrance. “If she’s happy, I think she’d be less of a terror.”

  He snorts in disagreement. “Doubtful. She feeds off the fear and unhappiness of others.”

  The valet opens my door before I can respond, but Wade’s assessment is depressingly correct. Jordan does seem to be happiest when everyone around her is miserable.

  “Be careful. It’s my baby,” Wade tells the valet as he tosses his keys over. Then he pats the hood and winks at me. “Cars are less complicated than women.”

  “Can’t have a conjugal visit with a car,” I remind him.

  He snickers. “Good point.”

  I haven’t been to the country club before, so I don’t know what it looks like when it’s not decked out in the Astor Prep blue and gold, but it’s pretty tonight. Wide swaths of white fabric hang from the center and outward, making the room look like a huge, luxurious tent. Along the white fabric hang tiny Christmas lights. Decorating the room are round tables covered with pristine white tablecloths and chairs wearing giant, shiny blue-and-gold ribbons. But despite the long line of cars outside, the room is surprisingly empty.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask my date.

  “You’ll see,” Wade says cryptically, leading me to a table at the entry.

  Behind the table, a man and a woman dressed in black suits rise as we approach. “Welcome to the Astor Park Prep Winter Formal,” chirps the lady. “Name, please?”

  “Wade Carlisle and Ella—” He stops and looks at me questioningly. “Royal? Harper? O’Halloran?”

  “I have an Ella Harper.” The woman holds out a silk bag and a mini bottle of sparkling cider with my name on it.

  “What’s this?” I ask slowly.

  Wade grabs everything and moves me away from the table so the couple behind us can get their goodies. He tucks the bottles in one pocket and the silk bags in the other. “You’re given five hundred dollars’ worth of chips to play in here.”

  “Here” ends up being a room filled with felt-covered gaming tables and so
many people that I feel a bit suffocated. The girls are beautifully dressed, most of them wearing slinky gowns with slits up the side. The guys are wearing black tuxes. It looks like a movie set.

  “I wish Val was here,” I whisper.

  I think Wade says, “Me, too,” but I’m not completely sure.

  “So I use the chips to play these games?” I wave a hand toward the casino tables, trying to take both our minds off our missing friend.

  “Yep, and then you bid on stuff.”

  We wander in. There are two tables—one where kids are playing poker and another where they’re playing blackjack. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Trips, jewelry, experiences.”

  “Who pays for it?”

  “It’s all donated. But your chips are paid for by a parent or guardian, I guess.”

  “Is this why there’s no dancing?” Deeper in the room, I see a table full of purses, envelopes, and baskets. It looks like a raffle table at a bingo hall, only much nicer.

  “There’s dancing in the dinner area.”

  I vaguely recall a small open square in the middle of the tables. “But that space is so small.”

  “No one dances.”

  Well, duh. Who wants to dance when you could gamble? “When did this start?”

  “Maybe ten years ago?” Wade slaps the hands of one of the football players as we pass by. “None of the guys danced, and a huge number of them just stopped coming altogether, so some smarty set this casino thing up. Boom, boys were back in town.”

  We stop in front of a table. The items range from purses to jewelry to placards with the words Aspen and Las Vegas and Puerto Vallarta written on them. Those must be the experiences Wade referenced. “None of these is five hundred,” I tell him, pointing to the bolded numbers on the bottom of each explanation sheet.

  “Right, well, you’re supposed to win the chips and then your date’s supposed to give you his.”

  “That’s not sexist,” I mutter under my breath.

  Wade snorts. “Astor Prep’s not real enlightened. You’re just figuring that out?”

  I wonder if this is why Val didn’t come. On top of the dress, there’s the added cost of buying five hundred dollars’ worth of chips to buy what I presume to be worthless stuff. “Sucks if you’re a scholarship student.”

  Wade frowns. “You don’t have to play.”

  I turn to inspect the room. “I don’t see Liam Hunter here, either. Isn’t he a scholarship student like Val?”

  “Huh.” Wade’s eyes widen as the realization sinks in of who exactly attends these charity dances.

  The whole setup reeks of rich kids keeping the poor kids out, and some of the magical gauze that covers the place is torn away.

  Impatiently, I check the door. “Where’s Reed?” Everything’s more tolerable when he’s around. Only if he has his way, he won’t be around much longer.

  I shove that depressing thought aside.

  Wade shrugs. “He’ll be late. Jordan likes to make an entrance.”

  31

  Reed

  “You’re late,” Jordan snaps as she throws open the mansion’s door.

  I check my watch. “A whole minute late,” I answer, rolling my eyes. And even though her sharp tone scrapes across my nerves, this devil’s bargain Ella made was so fucking worth it. It’s not going to kill me to be civil. “Are you ready to go?” I ask politely.

  Jordan’s gaze rakes over me. “Where’s your gold tie?”

  That’s not the question I expected. I peer down at the black one hanging down my front. “I don’t think I own a gold tie.”

  Her eyes narrow into thin strips. “Part of the deal is that you wear a gold tie to match my dress.”

  I follow her hand as she Vanna Whites it down her body, which is wrapped in what looks like gold tissue. Really thin gold tissue. Holy hell, are her nipples visible? I try not to stare, but it’s not easy.

  I catch a glimpse of Jordan’s smug face as I avert my eyes.

  “Like what you see?”

  “Your tits? Every girl’s got a pair, Jordan.”

  Her smirk turns to a sneer. “Tell Ella the deal’s off and she still owes me.”

  The door starts to close on my face. I slap my hand on the wood frame and push my way in. Be nice, Reed. It’s not going to kill you to be nice to this chick.

  “You look nice,” I manage to grind out.

  “Ahh, there you go.” The demon pats my arm, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to flinch. “Was that so hard?”

  Yes. Really hard. And I don’t want to be touched by her or any other girl whose name isn’t Ella Harper. But I don’t say that to Jordan. Instead I repeat my question. “Are you ready?”

  Considering she was mad that I was late, I expect her to say yes, but she doesn’t. “We’re not going until you put on a gold tie.”

  For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with this girl? “I don’t have one, and even if I did, I’m not driving twenty minutes to get it. Get your purse or whatever else you need and let’s go.”

  She lifts her chin. “No, we’re taking pictures first. Mom,” she yells. “Reed Royal is here. We’re ready for pictures.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pray for patience. I’m not standing around like a mannequin so that Jordan can memorialize this farce of a date. “I didn’t sign up for pictures. I’m here to take you to the dance. That’s the deal.”

  “The deal is what I say it is,” Jordan hisses.

  “We both know Ella’s the only person who would actually honor this deal. The rest of Astor would tell you to go fuck yourself.” Including me, but I’m trying to keep my nose clean, so I try to keep the insults to a minimum. “I’m here. I’m willing to take you to the dance. I’ll sit with you during dinner and give you my bag of chips to buy whatever the hell you want. But that’s it. We can either keep arguing for the next two hours or we can haul ass to the party. We might even make it in time for dinner if we move.”

  “I deserve a picture,” she insists.

  As if on cue, Mrs. Carrington pops around the corner with Mr. Carrington, who’s carrying a camera.

  I sigh. If I don’t give in, my guess is we’re going to be here all night. “Fine. Take your picture and let’s go.”

  “Five pictures.”

  “One.”

  Her mother’s face is a picture of confusion. “Well, perhaps we could take a few by the mantle,” she suggests quietly.

  “We’ll start there,” Jordan agrees.

  “Just a couple ground rules,” I murmur so I don’t embarrass her in front of her parents. They’re already wondering what in the hell is going on. “We’re not kissing, hugging, or doing couple shit in this photo.”

  “You’ll put your arms around me and you’re going to like it,” she snipes and then grabs my sleeve to haul me snug up to her side.

  Calmly, I pull the fine wool out of her grasp. “Be careful. Tom Ford isn’t cheap.” The tux is custom fit. Every year, we get a new one. Dad’s a big believer in dressing for the occasion.

  “Are you ready?” Mrs. Carrington asks, gesturing for her husband to come forward with the camera.

  After a little maneuvering where Jordan tries to grind her ass against my dick and I try to avoid even our clothes coming into contact, the pictures are taken and we’re at the door.

  Mark Carrington clears his throat loudly as we’re about to leave. “Mr. Royal, I don’t approve of my daughter’s choice of dates given your current situation, but I also want her to be happy.”

  “Dad,” Jordan protests.

  Her father ignores her and looks me square in the eye. I respect that.

  “Don’t worry,” I assure him. “She’ll be home by ten.”

  I duck out the door and jog down the steps, with Jordan huffing her displeasure behind me.

  “The party doesn’t end until midnight, asshole.”

  I hold the car door open for her. “Too bad I told your dad you’d be home earlier, then.”<
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  “And then there’s the after party,” she says between clenched teeth.

  I wait for her to get her legs inside the truck and stare off into the distance. The skirt on her dress is so short that her panties would show, and it’s not something I care to see.

  “I signed up for one Winter Formal,” I retort as I slam the door.

  “Are you going to be like this the whole night?” Jordan demands as I settle into the driver’s seat.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s not within the spirit of the deal.”

  “Your deal is with Ella, not me. I’m doing the bare minimum here.”

  “You’re the worst. You and that trash deserve each other.”

  I slam on the brakes halfway down the driveway. My efforts at being nice have their limit and they stop at any insults toward Ella. “Call her trash and the date is off. I’ll haul you out of the Rover and leave you on the side of the road.”

  “You would not,” she says indignantly.

  “I so would.” In fact, I’d love to do it.

  “You should be grateful I’m even being seen with you.”

  “Really? If it wasn’t for you, I’d be with Ella right now.”

  “Just...” She sputters. “Just drive.”

  Some small part of her must realize I’m nearing the end of my rope. I release the brake and ease into traffic. It’s ten to seven. I wonder if dinner’s been served yet. Has Wade won any chips for Ella? He’s kind of a shit poker player. Ella’s probably not very good, either. Her face is too expressive. And Easton’s too undisciplined.

  I press harder on the gas.

  The country club gates never looked so welcoming. When I pull up, the valet’s so bored by the lack of traffic, he’s almost sleeping. At the slamming of my car door, he jerks to his feet and runs over to help Jordan out. She must be giving him a good view of her crotch given the way his eyes bulge out of his face.

  When we walk inside, the front table is abandoned.

  “I can’t believe no one’s here to give me my chips,” Jordan exclaims.

  Before she can make a scene, I reach over the table, find a box and pull two sacks of chips out. Shoving them into her hands, I say, “Here.”