by Erin Watt
“Thanks for the ride, Durand,” I say when we pull up to the front door of the mansion. He stops the car here instead of driving around to the side like he did yesterday when we arrived from Kirkwood.
Durand helps Brooke out of the car and up the stairs. I trail behind like the extra that Savannah referred to Brooke as.
“I’ll bring in the bags,” he tells me over his shoulder.
All of it makes me feel awkward and useless. I really should get a job. Maybe if I had my own money and some real friends, I could start feeling normal again.
When I dreamed of my future, it didn’t include limos and mansions and mean girls and designer labels. The pendulum of my life has swung too far in the opposite direction.
Callum is waiting in the foyer as Durand carries my bags inside, Brooke and I trailing behind him.
“Thanks for your help,” Callum tells his driver.
“Darling!” Brooke comes alive at Callum’s voice and throws herself at him. “We had so much fun!”
Callum nods in approval. “I’m glad.” He glances my way. “Gideon is home. I want you to meet him…without other distractions. After that, why don’t we grab a late lunch?”
“Gideon?” Brooke’s eyes light up. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen that darling boy.” She rises on her tiptoes and pecks at Callum’s cheek. “Your lunch plans sound delightful. I can’t wait.”
The throaty delivery nearly makes me blush. Callum coughs awkwardly.
“Come on, Ella. I want you to meet my oldest.” There’s a lot of pride in his voice and I follow him curiously to the back of the house, where a gorgeous blue-and-white tiled pool decorates a perfectly manicured lawn.
Inside the pool is a human arrow, slicing through the water with clean, even strokes. Next to me Brooke sighs. Or maybe that’s a moan. Either sound makes sense because even in the water you can appreciate the sculpted muscles of the eldest Royal. And if the other Royal sons are anything to go by, he’s probably not hard to look at out of the water, too.
I guess I can see why Brooke was excited to hear his name, but it’s a little creepy given that she’s dating his dad. Adults are complicated, I decide. It’s not my place to judge their relationship.
After two more laps, Gideon stops and hauls himself out of the pool. In his Speedo it’s easy to see there’s no shrinkage problem for this guy.
“Dad.” He rubs a towel over his wet face and then drapes it around his neck. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that he’s dripping water all over the deck.
“Gideon, this is Ella Harper, Steve’s daughter.”
His son flicks his eyes over me. “So you found her.”
“I did.”
They talk about me like I’m a lost puppy.
Callum’s hand lands on my shoulder and propels me forward.
“Nice to meet you, Gideon.” I wipe my hand on my jeans and then stick it out.
“Likewise.” He shakes my hand and despite the coolness in his tone, I find him to be friendlier than anyone else in this house, other than his father. “I’ve got some calls to make.” He turns to his dad. “But first I need to shower. I’ll see you later.”
He brushes by us. As we turn to watch him walk away, I happen to catch a glimpse of Brooke’s face and the hunger there shocks me. Her eyes have that greedy look—the one my mom would wear when she saw something extravagant she wanted but couldn’t have.
Callum seems oblivious. He’s turned his attention to me, but I can’t stop thinking about Brooke’s expression. She totally has the hots for Callum’s son. Am I the only one who can see that?
Stop it, Ella. This is none of your business.
“How about we get some lunch now?” Callum suggests. “There’s a great little café just about five minutes from here. Serves amazing farm to table stuff. Very fresh. Light.”
“Sure.” I’m ready to escape.
“I’ll come, too,” Brooke says.
“Actually, Brooke. If it’s all right with you, I want to have Ella to myself for now.” His tone says it doesn’t matter if she’s okay with the arrangement because that’s how it’s going to be.
8
Lunch with Callum is surprisingly pleasant. He tells me more about Steve even though I didn’t ask about him, but he confesses that just being able to talk about Steve is a relief. Callum admits he hadn’t always been there for either his sons or his wife, but whenever Steve needed him, he’d drop everything. Apparently that SEAL bond was unbreakable.
He doesn’t make fun of me when I ask if that’s where they became buds, but he looks like he’s fighting a smile as he explains that BUD/S is a navy training program. By the time we’re done eating, I have a better sense of the senior Royal—devoted, a little single-minded, and not entirely in control of his own life. We stay away from the topic of his sons but I tense up when the gates swing open.
“They’ll come around,” Callum says encouragingly.
We find the guys huddled in a large room at the end of the right wing of the house. The game room, Callum calls it. Despite the black walls, the place is enormous, so it doesn’t look like a cave. The boys meet us with stone-cold silence, and Callum’s earlier reassurances suddenly sound unconvincing.
“Where are you all going tonight?” Callum asks in a conversational tone.
At first, no one says anything. The younger ones all look to Reed, who’s leaning against a bar stool, one foot on the floor and one foot braced on the lowest rung of the chair. Gideon stands behind the bar, his hands braced on the top, watching it all.
“Gideon?” Callum prompts.
His eldest shrugs. “Jordan Carrington’s having a party.”
Reed swings around and scowls at Gideon as if he’s a traitor.
“You’re taking Ella to the party,” their father orders. “It will be good for her to get to know her new classmates.”
“There’ll be booze, drugs, and sex,” Reed mocks. “You really want her there?”
“I’d rather just stay in tonight,” I volunteer but no one is listening to me.
“Then you five will watch out for her. She’s your sister now.” Callum folds his arms over his chest. This is a contest of wills and he wants to win it. He also seems completely unconcerned about the “booze, drugs, and sex” part. Awesome. This is really fantastic.
“Oh, did you adopt her?” Reed says sarcastically. “Guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Doing shit without telling us is your MO, right, Dad?”
“I don’t want to go to the party,” I cut in. “I’m tired. I’m happy just to stay at home.”
“Good idea, Ella.” Callum unfolds his arms and places one around my shoulder. “You and I will watch a movie then.”
A muscle ticks in Reed’s jaw. “You win. She can come with us. We leave at eight.”
Callum drops his arm. He isn’t as clueless as I thought. The boys don’t want me alone with him, and Callum knows it.
Reed’s steely blue eyes shift to me. “Better go upstairs and make yourself presentable, sis. Can’t ruin your big debut by showing up looking like that.”
“Reed…” Callum warns.
His son’s expression is the epitome of innocence. “Just trying to be helpful.”
From his perch near the pool table, Easton looks like he’s fighting a grin. Gideon is resigned and the twins are studiously ignoring us all.
A tremor of panic ripples through me. The high school parties I’d gone to in the past—all one of them—had been a jeans-and-T-shirt affair. The girls slutted it up, sure, but in a casual-smut kind of way. I want to ask how fancy this party will be, but I don’t want to give the Royal brothers the satisfaction of knowing just how out of my element I feel.
Since eight o’clock is fifteen minutes from now, I book it upstairs where I find all my shopping bags placed in a neat row at the end of the bed. Savannah’s warnings hang in the back of my mind. If I’m going to be here for two years, then I need to make a good impression. And now at the forefront of my mind
is another thought—why the hell do I care? I don’t need these people to like me, I just need to graduate from high school.
But I do care. I hate myself for it, but I can’t fight this desperate need to try. Try to fit in. Try to make this school experience different than all the previous ones.
It’s warm out, so I choose a short navy-blue skirt and an ice-blue and white top made of silk and cotton. It cost as much as the entire clothing section at Walmart but it’s so fricking pretty, and I sigh when it falls into place.
In another bag, I find a pair of navy flats with a wide retro silver buckle. I brush my hair and gather the long strands to tie it in a ponytail, then decide to leave it down. I throw on a silver-colored headband that Brooke made me purchase—“accessories are a must,” she’d insisted, which is why I also have an entire shopping bag full of bracelets, necklaces, scarves, and purses.
In the bathroom, I dig into my makeup kit and apply it with the lightest hand possible. I try for the dewy look, hoping that my time spent in strip clubs and bars doesn’t show in my application. I’m not used to high school parties. I’m used to working with thirty-year-olds trying to pass as ten years younger, whose motto is if you’re not wearing makeup three layers deep, you’re not trying.
Once I’m done, I examine my reflection in the mirror and see a stranger. I look prim and proper. I look like a Savannah Montgomery, not an Ella Harper. But maybe that’s a good thing.
Except there’s nothing encouraging about the response I get when I meet the Royal brothers in the driveway a few minutes later. Gideon looks startled by my appearance. The twins and Easton snort. Reed smirks.
Did I mention they’re all wearing low-riding jeans and snug T-shirts?
The assholes played me.
“We’re going to a party, sis, not tea with the queen.” Reed’s deep voice doesn’t give me any tingles this time. He’s mocking me again, and he’s enjoying himself.
“Can you wait five minutes while I change?” I ask tightly.
“Naah. Time to go.” He strides toward one of the Range Rovers without a backward look.
Gideon glances at me again, then at his brother. Then he sighs and follows Reed to the car.
* * *
The party is at a house inland, away from the ocean. Easton drives me. The rest of the guys have gone ahead, and he doesn’t look thrilled being the one stuck with me. He doesn’t say much during the drive. He doesn’t turn on the radio either, so the silence makes for an uncomfortable ride.
It isn’t until he drives through the main gate of a three-story mansion that he looks my way. “Nice headband.”
I resist the urge to smack that smug smile off his smug face. “Thanks. It cost a hundred and thirty bucks. Courtesy of your dad’s magic black card.”
That brings a dark look to his eyes. “Watch yourself. Ella.”
I smile and reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. Easton.”
At the columned entrance of the house, Reed and Gideon are standing with their backs turned, engaged in hushed conversation. I hear an annoyed curse from Gideon, then, “Not smart, bro. Not during the season.”
“The fuck do you care?” Reed mutters. “You made it clear where you stand—and it’s no longer at our side.”
“You’re my brother and I’m worried about—” He halts when he notices me approaching.
They both tense up, and then Reed turns to greet me, and by greet me, I mean give me a laundry list of things I can and cannot do.
“This is Jordan’s place. Her parents deal in hotels. Don’t get sloppy drunk. Don’t embarrass the Royal name. Don’t hang around us. Don’t use the Royal name to get anything. Act like a whore and we toss you out on your ass. Gid says your mom was a prostitute. You don’t try that shit here, got it?”
The infamous Royal decrees.
“Screw you, Royal. She was not a prostitute, unless dancing is your version of sex and if so, your sex life must suck.” I meet Reed’s hard eyes with defiant ones. “Do your worst. You’re an amateur compared to what I’ve been through.”
I waltz past the Royal brothers and hike inside like I own the place, then regret it instantly, because everyone in the front parlor turns to stare at me. Pounding bass music thuds through the house, shaking the walls and vibrating beneath my feet, and loud voices and laughter echo from beyond an arched doorway to my left. A couple of girls in skimpy tops and skin-tight jeans eye me in disdain. A tall polo-shirt-wearing guy smirks at me as he raises a beer bottle to his lips.
I fight the urge to race back out into the night, but I can cower and be a target for the next two years, or I can brazen it out. The best I can do is be bold-faced when necessary and blend in whenever I have the opportunity. I’m no one’s bitch, but I don’t need to make waves either.
So I just smile politely in the face of their stares, and when their gazes shift behind me toward the incoming Royals, I take the opportunity to duck into the nearest corridor. I keep going until I find the quietest corner, a shadowy little nook tucked at the end of a hallway. While it seems like the perfect make-out spot, it’s empty.
“It’s still early,” a female voice says, and I jump back in surprise. “But even if it was later, this part of the house is always empty.”
“Oh God, I didn’t see you there.” I clasp a hand over my racing heart.
“I get that a lot.”
As my eyes adjust to the dark, I see that there’s an armchair situated in the corner. The girl on the chair pushes to her feet. She’s really short, with chin-length black hair and a tiny mole over her top lip. And she’s got curves I’d kill for.
“I’m Valerie Carrington.”
Jordan’s sister?
“I’m—”
“Ella Royal,” she interrupts.
“Harper actually.” I peer around her. Was she reading with a flashlight? I spot a phone lying on the small table next to the chair. Texting with her boyfriend? “You hiding?”
“Yup. I’d offer you a chair, but there’s only one here.”
“I know why I’m hiding,” I say with sheepish honesty, “but what’s your excuse? If you’re a Carrington, don’t you live here?”
She snickers. “I’m Jordan’s poor cousin twice removed. A complete charity case.”
And I bet Jordan doesn’t let her forget it. “Hiding’s not a bad thing. If you run away, you live to fight another day. That’s my theory at least.” I shrug.
“Why are you hiding? You’re a Royal now.” There’s a slight sneer in her voice that makes me strike back.
“Like you’re a Carrington?”
She frowns. “Gotcha.”
I run a hand over my forehead, feeling like a complete jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a long couple of days and I’m dead tired and completely out of my element.”
Valerie’s head tilts and she contemplates me for a few seconds. “Okay then, Ella Harper”—she emphasizes that as if it’s an olive branch—“let’s find something to wake you up. You know how to dance?”
“Yeah, sort of, I guess. I took lessons when I was younger.”
“This will be fun then. Come on.”
She leads me down the hall, past the nook, toward a set of stairs.
“Please don’t tell me you have to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs.”
“Ha! No. I have a proper bedroom upstairs. This is the staff quarters, and the housekeeper’s son is a friend of mine. He went to college and left his old gaming equipment here. We played all the time, including DDR.”
“I have no idea what that is,” I confess. Mom and I didn’t even own a TV when we were living in that last place in Seattle.
“Dance Dance Revolution. You copy the movements on the screen and get scored for how well you can dance. I’m pretty good at it, but if you have some past dance experience, then it shouldn’t be a total annihilation.”
When she grins at me, I nearly hug her, because it’s been so long since I’ve had a friend. I didn’t
even realize I needed one until this minute.
“Tam was terrible,” she confesses.
The wistful note in her voice tells me she misses him. A lot.
“Does he come home often?” I think of Gideon, who’s home after only two weeks of college.
“No. He doesn’t have a car so we won’t see each other until Thanksgiving. That’s when his mom will drive up. I’m going with her.” She nearly skips with excitement at the mention of the trip. “But someday he’ll have one.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” She looks at me in accusation. “Why? You got a problem with that?”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Of course not. I was just curious.”
She nods and opens the door to a small room with a neatly made bed and a normal sized television.
“So how are the Royals at home?” she asks as she sets up the game.
“Nice,” I lie.
“Really?” She looks skeptical. “Because they haven’t been nice to you. Or about you.”
Some misplaced sense of loyalty to those jerks makes me shut her down. “Naah, they’re coming around.” I echo Callum’s earlier words, but they don’t sound any more believable from my mouth. Trying to change the subject, I tap the television. “Ready to dance?”
“Yep.” Valerie accepts my topic switch with ease. She grabs two wine coolers from a mini fridge and hands me one. “Here’s to hiding and still having fun.”
The game is a breeze. It’s way too easy for both of us. Valerie is a great dancer, but I grew up in this environment and there’s no shift of the hips or flip of the arm that I can’t make. Valerie decides we need handicaps and so she pauses the game and we start chugging our wine coolers. As we drink, her moves become increasingly terrible, but the alcohol is like magic for me and the music just takes over.
“Damn, girl, you’ve got moves,” she teases. “You should try out for one of those TV dance shows.”