Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1)

by Erin Watt

  This is my first time on a plane. Before it was always buses and, in some really terrible spots, rides with truck drivers. But this is a giant thing, big enough to house a car. Surely there’s a closet somewhere for me to change.

  Callum’s eyes soften and he gives a brisk nod to Goliath. “We’ll wait upstairs.” He points to the end of the garage-like room. “Through that door is a set of stairs. Come up when you’re ready.”

  The minute I’m alone, I quickly exchange my stripper clothes for my most comfortable undies, a pair of baggy jeans, a tank top, and a flannel button-down top that I’d normally leave open but tonight fasten all the way up, leaving only the top button undone. I look like a hobo, but at least I’m covered.

  I stuff the stripper gear in the bag and check to see if my money is there. It is, thankfully, along with Steve’s watch. My wrist feels naked without it, and since Callum already knows, I might as well wear it. The second the latch is affixed around my wrist, I feel instantly better, stronger. I can face whatever Callum Royal has in store for me.

  Slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I start plotting as I walk toward the door. I need money. Callum has that. I need a new place to live, and fast. If I get enough money from him, I’ll fly to my next destination and start over again. I know how to do that.

  I’m going to be okay.

  Everything is going to be okay. If I tell myself that lie long enough, I’ll believe it to be true…even if it isn’t.

  When I reach the top of the stairs, Callum is there waiting for me. He introduces me to the driver. “Ella Harper, this is Durand Sahadi. Durand, Steven’s daughter, Ella.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Durand says in a ridiculously deep voice. Jeez, he sounds like Batman. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He bows his head slightly and he’s just so fricking nice that it’d be rude to ignore him. I push my backpack out of the way and shake his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you as well, Durand.” Callum dismisses his driver and turns to me. “Let’s take our seats. I want to get home. It’s an hour plane ride to Bayview.”

  “An hour? You brought a plane to go an hour?” I exclaim.

  “It would have taken me six hours to drive and that was far too long. It’s already taken me nine weeks and an army of detectives to find you.”

  Since I don’t have any other options right now, I follow Callum toward a set of plush cream leather seats facing each other, with a fancy black wooden table inlaid with silver situated between them. He settles into one, then gestures for me to take my place opposite him. A glass and a bottle are already set out, as if his staff knows he can’t function without a drink.

  Across the aisle from Callum is another set of cushy chairs, and a sofa lies beyond that. I wonder if I could get a job as a flight attendant for him. This place is even nicer than his car. I could live here, no question.

  I sit down and set my backpack between my feet.

  “Nice watch,” he comments dryly.

  “Thanks. My mom gave it to me. Said it was the only thing my dad left her besides his name and me.” There’s no point in lying anymore. If his army of private detectives led him to me in Kirkwood, he probably knows more about me and Mom than I do. He certainly seems to know a lot about my dad, and I find, against my better judgment, I’m starving for that information. “Where’s the letter?”

  “At home. I’ll give it to you when we arrive.” He reaches for a leather portfolio and pulls out a stack of cash—the kind you see in movies with a white wrapper around it. “I want to make a deal with you, Ella.”

  I know my eyes are as huge as saucers but I can’t help it. I’ve never seen so many hundred-dollar bills in my entire life.

  He pushes the stack across the dark surface until the pile of bills sits in front of me. Maybe this is a game show or some kind of reality television competition? I snap my mouth shut and try to stiffen up. No one plays me for a fool.

  “Let’s hear it,” I say, crossing my arms and looking at Callum with narrowed eyes.

  “From what I can tell, you’re stripping to support yourself and get a high school diploma. From there, I presume you’d like to go to college and give up stripping and perhaps do something else. Maybe you’d like to be an accountant or doctor or lawyer. This money is a good faith gesture.” He taps the bills. “This stack contains ten thousand dollars. For every month you stay with me, I’ll give you a new stack—in cash—for the same amount. If you stay with me until you graduate from high school, you’ll receive a bonus of two hundred thousand. That will pay for your college education, housing, clothing, and food. If you graduate with a degree, you’ll receive another substantial bonus.”

  “What’s the catch?” My hands itch to grab the money, find a parachute and escape from Callum Royal’s clutches before he can even say stock market.

  Instead, I stay seated, waiting to hear what kind of sick deed I’ll have to do to get this money—and debating internally what my limits are.

  “The catch is that you don’t fight. You don’t try to run away. You accept my guardianship. You live in my home. You treat my sons as your brothers. If you do that, you can have the life you’ve dreamed of.” He pauses. “The life Steve would have wanted you to have.”

  “And what do I have to do for you?” I need the terms spelled out exactly.

  Callum’s eyes widen and his face takes on a green cast. “Nothing for me. You’re a very pretty girl, Ella, but you are a girl and I’m a forty-two-year-old man with five sons. Rest assured, I have an attractive girlfriend who meets my every need.”

  Ewww. I hold up a hand. “Okay, I don’t need any more explanation.”

  Callum laughs with relief before his tone goes serious again. “I know I can’t replace your parents, but I’m here for you in any way that you would need them. You may have lost your family, but you’re not alone anymore, Ella. You’re a Royal now.”

  4

  We’re landing, but even with my nose pressed right up to the window, it’s too dark to see anything. Blinking lights from the runway below are all I can make out, and once we touch down, Callum doesn’t give me time to examine my surroundings. We don’t take the car that’s in the belly of the plane. No, that must be the “travel” car because Durand ushers us to another sleek black sedan. The windows are tinted so dark I have no idea what kind of scenery is flashing past us, but then Callum rolls the window down a bit, and I smell it—salt. The ocean.

  We’re on the coast then. One of the Carolinas? Six hours from Kirkwood would place us somewhere along the Atlantic, which makes sense given the name of Callum’s company. It doesn’t matter, though. All that matters is the stack of crisp bills in my backpack. Ten grand. I still can’t fathom it. Ten grand a month. And a helluva lot more after I graduate.

  There has to be a catch. Callum might have assured me that he doesn’t expect…special favors in return, but this isn’t my first rodeo. There’s always a catch, and eventually it will make itself known. When it does, at least I’ll have ten grand in my pocket if I need to run again.

  Until then, I’m playing along. Making nice with Royal.

  And his sons…

  Crap, I forgot about the sons—five of them, he’d said.

  How bad could they really be, though? Five spoiled rich boys? Ha. I’ve dealt with a lot worse. Like my mom’s gangster boyfriend, Leo, who tried to feel me up when I was twelve, then taught me the right way to form a fist after I punched him in the gut and nearly broke my hand. He’d laughed and we were fast friends after that. The self-defense tips definitely helped me with Mom’s next boyfriend, who was just as handsy. Mom really knew how to pick winners.

  But I try not to judge her. She did what she had to do to survive, and I never doubted her love for me.

  After thirty minutes of driving, Durand slows the car in front of a gate. There’s a divider between us and the driver’s seat, but I hear an electronic beep, then a mechanical whir, and then we’re driving again. Slower th
is time, until finally the car stops altogether and the locks release with a click.

  “We’re home,” Callum says quietly.

  I want to correct him—there’s no such thing—but I keep my mouth shut.

  Durand opens the door for me and extends a hand. My knees wobble slightly as I exit. Three other vehicles are parked outside a huge garage—two black SUVS and a cherry-red pickup truck that looks out of place.

  Callum notices where my gaze has gone and smiles ruefully. “Used to be three Range Rovers, but Easton traded his for the pickup. I suspect he wanted more room to screw around with his dates.”

  He doesn’t say it with reproach, but resignation. I assume Easton is one of his sons. I also sense an undercurrent of…something in Callum’s tone. Helplessness maybe? I’ve only known him a few hours, but somehow I can’t imagine this man ever being helpless, and my guard shoots up again.

  “You’ll have to catch a ride to school with the boys for the first few days,” he adds. “Until I get you a car.” His eyes narrow. “That is, if you have a license under your own name and which doesn’t say you’re thirty-four?”

  I nod grudgingly.

  “Good.”

  Then I realize what he said before. “You’re buying me a car?”

  “It’ll be easier that way. My sons…”—he seems to be choosing his words carefully—“…aren’t quick to warm up to strangers. But you need to go to school, so…” He shrugs and repeats himself. “It will be easier.”

  I can’t fight my suspicion. Something is off here. With this man. With his kids. Maybe I should have fought harder to get out of his car back in Kirkwood. Maybe I—

  My thoughts die as I shift my gaze and get my first glimpse of the mansion.

  No, the palace. The Royal Palace. Literally.

  This isn’t real. The house is only two stories tall but it stretches out so far I can barely see the end of it. And there are windows everywhere. Maybe the architect who designed this place was allergic to walls or had a deep fear of vampires.

  “You…” My voice hitches. “You live here?”

  “We live here,” he corrects. “This is your home now, too, Ella.”

  This will never be my home. I don’t belong in splendor, I belong in squalor. That’s what I know. It’s what I’m comfortable with, because squalor doesn’t lie to you. It’s not wrapped in a pretty package. It is what it is.

  This house is an illusion. It’s polished and pretty, but the dream Callum is trying to sell is as flimsy as paper. Nothing stays shiny forever in this world.

  * * *

  The interior of the Royal mansion is as extravagant as the exterior. White slabs of tile veined with gray and gold—the kind that banks and doctors’ offices have—span the foyer, which seems to go on for miles. The ceiling never ends either, and I’m tempted to shout something just to see how deep the echo goes.

  Stairs on either side of the entrance meet at an actual balcony that overlooks the foyer. The chandelier above my head must contain a hundred lights and so much crystal that if it fell on my head, all they’d be able to find is glass dust. It looks like it belongs in a hotel. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was taken from one.

  Everywhere I look I see wealth.

  And through it all, Callum watches me with wary eyes, as if he’s stepped inside my mind and realizes how close I am to freaking out. To running hard and fast, because I don’t fucking belong here.

  “I know it’s different from what you’re used to,” he says gruffly, “but you’ll get used to this, too. You’re going to like it here. I promise you.”

  My shoulders stiffen. “Don’t make promises, Mr. Royal. Not to me, not ever.”

  His face goes stricken. “Call me Callum. And I intend to keep any promise I make to you, Ella. Same way I kept every promise I made to your father.”

  Something softens inside me. “You…uh…” The words come out awkwardly. “You really cared about my—about Steve, huh?”

  “He was my best friend,” Callum says simply. “I trusted him with my life.”

  Must be nice. The only person I’ve ever trusted is gone. Dead and buried. I think of Mom, and suddenly I miss her so much my throat closes up.

  “Um…” I struggle to sound casual, as if I’m not on the verge of tears or a breakdown. “So do you have a butler or something? Or a housekeeper? Who takes care of this place?”

  “I have staff. You won’t be required to scrub floors to earn your keep.” His grin dies off at my unsmiling stare.

  “Where’s my letter?”

  Callum must sense how close I am to losing it, because his tone softens. “Look, it’s late, and you’ve had a lot of excitement for one day. Why don’t we save this conversation for tomorrow? Right now I just want you to get a good night’s sleep.” He eyes me knowingly. “I get the feeling it’s been a long time since you’ve had one of those.”

  He’s right. I take a breath, then exhale slowly. “Where’s my room?”

  “I’ll take you up—” He halts when footsteps sound from above us, and I glimpse a flicker of approval in his blue eyes. “Here they are. Gideon is at college, but I asked the others to come down and meet you. They don’t always listen—”

  And still don’t, apparently, because whatever orders he issued to the junior Royals are being ignored. And so am I. Not a single gaze flicks in my direction as four dark-haired figures appear at the curved railing of the balcony.

  My jaw falls open, just slightly, before I slam it shut, steeling myself against the show of aggression from above. I won’t let them see how much they’ve rattled me, but holy shit, I’m rattled. No, I’m intimidated.

  The Royal boys are not what I expected. They don’t look like rich pricks in preppy clothes. They look like terrifying thugs who can snap me like a twig.

  Each one is as big as his father, easily six feet tall, and with varying degrees of muscle—the two on the right are leaner, the two on the left are broad-shouldered with sculpted arms. They must be athletes. Nobody is that ripped without working hard for it, bleeding and sweating for it.

  I’m nervous now, because nobody has said a word. Not them, not Callum. Even standing far below them, I can see that all his sons have his eyes. Vivid blue and piercing in their intensity—all of it focused on their father.

  “Boys,” he finally says. “Come meet our guest.” He shakes his head as if correcting himself. “Come meet the new member of our family.”

  Silence.

  It’s eerie.

  The one in the middle smirks, just a tiny tug on the corner of his mouth. Mocking his father as he rests his muscled forearms on the railing and says nothing.

  “Reed.” Callum’s commanding voice bounces off the walls. “Easton.” Another name rattles out. “Sawyer.” Then another. “Sebastian. Get down here. Now.”

  They don’t move. The two on the right are twins, I realize. Identical in looks, and in their insolent poses when they cross their arms over their chests. One of the twins glances to the side, casting a barely noticeable look toward the brother on the far left.

  A chill runs through me. He’s the one to worry about. He’s the one I need to watch out for.

  And he’s the only one who tilts his head toward me in a calculated slant. As our gazes lock, my heart beats a little bit faster. Out of fear. Maybe under different circumstances, my heart would be pounding for another reason. Because he’s gorgeous. They all are.

  But this one scares me, and I work hard to hide the response. I meet his eyes in challenge. Come down here, Royal. Bring it on.

  Those dark blue eyes narrow slightly. He senses the unspoken challenge. He sees my defiance and he doesn’t like it. Then he turns from the railing and walks away. The others follow as if on command. They dismiss their father from their gazes. Footsteps echo in the cavernous house. Doors close.

  Next to me, Callum sighs. “I’m sorry about that. I thought I got through to them before—they’ve had time to prepare for it—but clearly they still need
more time to absorb all this.”

  All this? He means me. My presence in their home, my tie to their father that I never knew I had before today.

  “I’m sure they’ll be more welcoming in the morning,” he says. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

  He sure as hell hasn’t convinced me.

  5

  I wake up in an unfamiliar bed and I don’t like it. Not the bed. The bed is the shit. It’s soft but firm at the same time and the sheets are buttery smooth, not like the scratchy pieces of crap that I’m used to, when I actually slept on a bed with sheets. Lots of times it was just a sleeping bag, and those nylon sacks get smelly after a while.

  This bed smells like honey and lavender.

  All this luxury and niceness feels threatening, because in my experience, nice is usually followed by a real nasty surprise. One time, Mom came home from work and announced that we were moving into a better place. A tall, thin man came and helped us pack our meager belongings, and several hours later we were in his tiny house. It was adorable, with plaid curtains on the windows, and despite the small size, I even had my own bedroom.

  Later that night I woke up to the sound of shouting and glass breaking. Mom rushed into my room and pulled me out of bed, and we were out of the house before I could take a breath. It wasn’t until we’d stopped two blocks away that I saw the bruise forming on her cheekbone.

  So nice things doesn’t equal nice people.

  I sit up and take in my surroundings. The whole room is designed for a princess—a really young one. There’s a gag worthy amount of pink and ruffles. It’s really only missing Disney posters, although I’m sure posters are too low-class for this place, just like my backpack sitting on the floor near the door is.

  Yesterday’s events flick through my mind, halting at the stack of hundred dollar bills. I leap out of bed and grab the backpack. Ripping it open, I sigh with relief when I see the stack of Benjamins on the top. I thumb the bills and listen to the sweet sound of the paper shuffling, replacing the silence of the room. I could take this right now and leave. Ten grand would keep me afloat for a long time.