Imperfect Princess (Modern Princess Collection Book 1)

by Sonya Jesus

  “Really? How do you manage all of it?”

  “Well, my job as a professional house sitter does take up a lot of time.” His sarcastic tone eases me further into comfort with him.

  “Sounds like a sweet job.”

  “That it is.”

  The second we walk in, I spot Vanessa, talking on the phone, completely enthralled in her conversation. I don’t want to take a seat and interrupt, so I keep a distance.

  “That’s her.” Corbin dips his head toward her. “Maybe I should stay at the bar while you two get to know each other?” Corbin offers when Vanessa huffs into the phone and nods her head like she’s jamming to a rock song.

  We stop near the bar, close enough to hear her.

  “You heard about that? Everyone is talking about Kai.” Vanessa pauses to listen to the other person and grabs a long piece of her hair, twirling it around her index finger while staring at herself in the small mirror panel beside her.

  I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the mention of his name summons my attention. While Corbin flags the bartender, I turn around and rest my back on one of the higher chairs at the bar.

  “Right? He just put me on blast … The Reef is a definite tonight.”

  She drops her hair and glances up toward the front door, oblivious that I’m standing right next to her. Granted, by the bar, and she probably has no idea who I am, but girls like her rarely care for the people who surround her.

  This meet and greet is to put a name to a face, though I’ve already known her face. It’s hard not to when she’s all over the Internet.

  “Of course, Kai will be there,” she huffs indignantly and gracefully props her elbows on the table.

  Corbin nudges me in the arm. “Want something?”

  “Diet Coke,” I order as I assess Vanessa. Comparing myself is a horrible practice, but she has the only thing that actually belonged to me—Kai’s attention. And I can see why. She’s the kind of pretty not even plastic surgery can achieve—at least not on me. Not that I want any more surgeries. Facial reconstruction is no longer a safe alternative. I’ve got so many pins beneath my skin, I’m almost a glorified voodoo doll.

  I snort at myself, catching Corbin’s attention. “Everything okay?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and smile. “She’s kind of intimidating.”

  “You haven’t even talked to her.”

  “You don’t need to talk to someone to be intimidated by them,” I whisper, as he hands me my Diet Coke with a lemon wedge and pink plastic straw. I take a sip while checking out her glossy pitch-black hair that falls over her one shoulder in soft waves. Her olive skin tone is almost golden from the sun, and the warm lights of the restaurant make her lips look a muted rose gold. Her eyebrows are thick with just the slightest line at the arch of her brow, expertly styled and filled, somehow making her almond brown eyes darker and more mysterious.

  “Yeah, no. I think it’s a different person,” she says, just as she looks up and catches me staring. “I got to go.”

  She hangs her phone up and plasters a smile on her face—one of those half-hearted smiles that are too small to be genuine and too big to be kind. Meryl gave me that very smile the first day I met her.

  Smiles are dangerous. A false sense of security is easily achieved with one simple gesture. So, I’ve learned to decipher them. The goal is to pay attention to how the rest of the face reacts in response to the subtle movement. And in this case, those mysterious eyes I admired before, are cruel—hard—and nearly thin slits. Her perfectly lined eyebrows flatten in a disapproving way, and her cheek bones haven’t moved a millimeter.

  Vanessa is trouble. The only question is why. I know why I don’t like her, but why doesn’t she like me?

  “You’re late,” she hisses, the words slithering over to me and biting my confidence with the tone.

  “Me?” I ask. Last I checked, we hadn’t met before.

  My question vanishes the smile from her face. “Aren’t you Rose?”

  “Yes … Vanessa?” I pretend like I don’t know her, which is obviously the wrong way to go. Everyone knows Vanessa Voight, @IceQueenFashionista.

  Her hand plops down on the table. “Sit!” she orders as if defiance isn’t something she tolerates well.

  “Sure.” I slide into the seat in front of her and mimic her actions. One hand flat across the table, the other one I tuck beneath my thigh, where she can’t see.

  “Did you get lost?” She lifts her chin slightly with the delivery.

  “No.” I look over my shoulder to get courage from my backup. I’m picking up on a harsh tone and am not really sure where it’s coming from. “I found a personal tour guide.”

  At his presence, her whole demeanor softens. “He looks familiar.”

  “He goes to CamU.”

  She nods and smiles a bit more genuinely. “Cute.”

  My eyes round to his muscular bum, inspecting the goods. He isn’t Kai, but very cute indeed.

  “Is he your dinner date?”

  Uh. Did she not invite me to dinner? I quickly assess the surroundings: two-person table, crowded place, at peak dinner hour. Lack of social interaction these last few years doesn’t mean I’m inept at decoding real-world cues. This isn’t a meet and greet; this is an interview. One I failed before even starting.

  “So, you wanted to get to know me?” I test, wondering what it is about my presence that makes her exert her superiority.

  She brings her martini glass to her lips and nods. “Yes.” Placing the glass down, she skillfully changes the subject. “I saw you this morning at Joe’s, and I meant to tell you the movers came today. They’ll be done moving everything out by tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” There’s no sorry for using my room as a closet. “So, you recognized me? From where?”

  “There’s not much about you on the Internet.”

  Right. Part of the agreement with my wardens. “You googled me?”

  “Actually, I asked a friend of mine who works for security on campus, and he showed me a picture of you.” Her long fingernail pokes out toward the lanyard around my neck. “That one.”

  My brow pumps up. “Couldn’t wait to meet me, huh?”

  “To be honest?” Her pitch elevates, insinuating a follow-up lie. “I had to make sure you weren’t ugly. I hang with a particular group of girls.”

  “Seriously?” I chuckle without thinking.

  “Dead serious.” She looks me up and down. “You passed.”

  I didn’t know I was taking a test. “Great.” I smash my lips together and look toward Corbin. Hopefully, he takes that as a cue to intervene and give me an excuse to get away from this girl.

  “So, anyway, I wanted to get to know you before we start living together.” I get the sense she’s sizing me up for some reason. “I mean, I don’t know you from Adam.”

  “Who is Adam?”

  She scowls, her expression holding a question between her pressed lips.

  “I’m from Canada, small town.”

  “Obviously.” She smirks while gazing down at my shirt, slowly lifting her gaze with a pinched expression and a lifted brow—with a single sweep, insulting my wardrobe and pretending like she isn’t. “Fixable.”

  Wow. I think I preferred the girls ignoring me back in high school. “Why don’t you come over tonight?”

  An invitation to be scrutinized by her minions, no doubt. “Where?”

  “To my loft. I mean, our loft.” She’s definitely laying down the territory—claiming land like someone who came over on the Santa Maria.

  Well, she can have it. At this point, I rather sleep in The Dungeon with the newbies than be friends with the entitled Voight heiress.

  Corbin comes over, balancing two drinks in one hand and fries in the other.

  Her gaze switches over to him. “We’ve met?”

  Corbin slides both drinks onto the table and steals a fry from the pile before placing the basket in front of me. “We have. A few times. I was your TA last year.” />
  “Oh?” Vanessa’s eyes glint over with a sparkle of amusement. “A teacher’s assistant as a tour guide? Short on cash?”

  What is it with this girl? “He helped me keep on track of things while I waited for my visa,” I defend him.

  “Do they do that here?” She takes another sip, staring up at him over the rim of her glass. The liquid almost looks golden.

  He retorts, “If they didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

  I smile warmly at Corbin and pluck a fry from the basket, earning me a scowl from Vanessa. To the girl who probably swore off carbs, I angle the basket in her direction, just to stir the pot. Smell the fat on these yummy things. “Want some?”

  Vanessa crinkles her nose in disgust and pushes the basket away. “I don’t do fried food.” She looks at me. “Neither should you. It’s not allowed in our loft.” She takes another sip of her drink and sighs. “Neither are teachers.”

  Corbin snorts and pulls up a chair, sliding me the second drink he bought me. I had not realized my glass was empty.

  Sitting at the end of the table pisses Vanessa off. She surveys the room for interlopers, and asks, “Are you two dating? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Umm, no.” Hell-a-awkward moment.

  Corbin remains quiet instead of confirming, so I nudge him with my knee. “None of your business,” he reminds her, and I kind of love it. Stifling the snort with a sip of my drink almost ends up with me choking on the bubbles. Something Vanessa frowns upon. “We don’t do gaseous drinks either. They make you bloat.”

  “Ever?” Corbin mocks her tone. “Not even on Sundays?” His voice returns to normal. “Oh wait, you and your girls prefer a different kind of coke, don’t you?”

  “Excuse—”

  “Girls?” I interrupt while watching Corbin grab a bunch of fries and shoving them into his mouth. He does it on purpose to piss her off.

  “The four of us who live at the suite. We’ve been friends since freshman year. They’re my best friends.” Already she’s establishing boundaries. Basically, telling me her table is full, and she isn’t planning on pulling up another chair, like Corbin just did.

  “It’s going to be hard.” She lifts a finger in the air to get my attention or call the waitress over.

  “What is?”

  “Living with us.” Her gaze vertically scans me. “I can try to help, but they can be very clickquey.”

  “Right.” I lean back and cross my arms over my chest. Having Corbin there gives me a little courage, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m tired of girls like her. Being away from the female population has given me a reprieve from them and a no-tolerance bitch policy. “Why would you want to help me?”

  “You don’t know anyone who goes here, right? Well, except for the teacher.”

  Not that I would, but telling her I know Kai will not make it better for any of us. The jerk who cursed me out this morning goes perfectly well with CamU’s mean girl. I can see why they chose each other. The Kai Madison I remember wasn’t as callous.

  Corbin shakes his head, momentarily distracting me from Vanessa. She takes my lack of answer as admission to being a party of one.

  “Of course you don’t. I tell you what, the girls and I are going to The Reef tonight. Why don’t you and your teacher friend come?”

  “Corbin,” he enunciates as if she’s a few buttons short of intellect.

  Her nostrils flare at the interruption, and she stands up, probably plotting her revenge on him. “Whatever.”

  “Intelligence not allowed in your loft either?” Corbin smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe you should do a little bit of mental gymnastics. I mean, two syllables: Cor-Bin. If it takes you twenty-one years to master that, I’m worried about your progress in the world.”

  She smiles wickedly. “My progress in the world is secured, unlike yours.” She dismisses him by addressing me and shunning him in the process. “Later? Maybe we can increase your friend repertoire.”

  “Why would I do that?” I ask. “I like my friends.”

  “Friend.” She smirks. “I think you don’t get what I’m saying.”

  “I’m pretty sure ‘Bitch’ is a universal language,” Corbin chimes in, waving a fry in the air. “You don’t have to be fluent in it to understand.”

  Gone is the calm girl who had maintained the upper hand and her composure. She snatches her purse from the chair and flips her hand in the air. “Show up or not.” Then she lays down her law. “Without him.”

  She leaves us with the check for her drink.

  “You leaving already?” He elevates his voice so people can hear. “Really, don’t leave on my account.”

  She doesn’t turn back. Before she’s even out the door, I sigh loudly and rotate my body toward him, resting it against the mirrored wall. “Wow. Intense.”

  “Girls like her usually are.” Another fry disappears between his teeth, and he swallows down half his soda. “It’s to fool people into realizing they’re just stupid.”

  “Are you allowed to say things like that about students?”

  He stops and goes stoic—serious. “Are you going to tell?”

  “No.” I shake my head to validate my action. “But she might.”

  He smiles wide and ticks his head to the side, playfully tapping on my palm. “Ah, don’t worry. She’s all bark.”

  “Pretty sure she bites. I wouldn’t put my finger in that dog’s mouth.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything in her mouth. It’s been around a lot of places…”

  Immediately, I blush at the sexual innuendo and sit in silence, using the plastic straw to dunk the lemon wedge to the bottom of the cup.

  “Hey, sorry. My tongue kind of has this problem.”

  I look up when I see his fingers flail around in the air from my peripheral vision. “What problem is that?” I ask, amused by his little show of sticking out his tongue as evidence.

  “It’s defective. Genetically predisposed to babbling. On my mother’s side.”

  “Oh, yeah? So, you’re blaming your innocent mother?”

  He smirks and winks. “She doesn’t mind. She’s the one who said I was cursed with the fofoquice gene.”

  “Uh… Was that English?”

  “Brazilian, for gossip.”

  “Are you Brazilian?” I had only ever met one other person who was Brazilian, and he was nice to me. Wanted in multiple states and a murderer, but nice to me.

  “My mom was. She died in a fire when I was ten.”

  Oh… That’s how my real parents died too. Had they lived, maybe I wouldn’t be in the predicament I’m in: a DEA spy, searching for RICO treasure in a fairy-tale book. A book in the hands of the boy I once loved, one held captive by the Snow Queen.

  Eh… @icequeenfashionista. Same thing. I could see why she wanted to play the lead role in Corbin’s play. The pics would be epic, I mentally mock in a peppy voice, taking cheer out for a spin. I didn’t like it much. I rather be me.

  “Hey…I’m just kidding.” Corbin’s hand reaches for my fingertips, tapping gently to snap me out of my brain.

  “What?”

  He withdraws his hand back. “Vanessa’s not my student, and technically, I’m not a teacher. I won’t get in trouble for knocking her down a peg or two, even if just temporarily.”

  Real life aside, I give into the moment. “So, you tread between the fine line of rules and misconception?”

  “Life goals.” He smiles wide—white teeth against flattened lips. Beautiful to look at. Corbin and I have very similar attitudes, dark and melancholic, with a side of sarcasm.

  “You’re killing it.” I giggle at the reference.

  “I knew I liked you.” He leans back on his chair, running his hand over his flat stomach. His shirt lifts slightly, pointing to a dark trail of hair leading downward. Heat creeps to my cheeks, settling on the apples and spreading to the tips of my ears.

  Blink! I order myself and lift a finger in the air, summoning a waitress. �
�Fries aren’t enough,” I validate my gesture while avoiding his gaze. “So, you’re sure you won’t get in trouble?”

  He leans forward again, covering his body with the table. “Positive… Favoritism is where the school draws the line. Basically, any ‘-isms’.”

  The waitress comes over and brings the check for Vanessa’s drink.

  “Holy! What did she drink? Real angel tears?”

  I get a glimpse at the two-hundred-dollar bill.

  The waitress checks the receipt. “Lagrime is vintage port wine mixed with imported agua ardente. It’s quite expensive, not something often asked for here.”

  “I got it,” I say and hand my credit card over to the waitress. “Can you also bring me a hamburger, well done, and some chili fries? What do you want?”

  “Burger.” Corbin ruffles his shiny hair around, messing it up in a cute way.

  “It’s on me.” Before Corbin can protest, the waitress prints up a new bill and swipes my credit card through the pocket reader. I sign the printed receipt and add a tip.

  I smile nervously and pick at the fries, dipping one in ketchup while thinking about my future roommate.

  “Why are you quiet all of a sudden?” he asks.

  “How bad is The Dungeon?” I’m thinking anything is a better option than her.

  “It sucks, and you can’t have alcohol on the premises, not that you would, but they have restrictions. The doors lock at midnight, and then you’re on the co-ed dorm? So, you have to deal with the guys and the freedom. You also have the shared bathroom.”

  “Not a fan of those.” Scars seem to bring about a lot of questions.

  “You can always rent a place.”

  “I don’t have a car.” Or know how to drive.

  “There are places within walking distance.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” I did have an account from Meryl’s assets. I could use it to rent a place and keep it from my foster parents and the DEA. Yeah right. They specifically wanted me on campus, and they put me in Vanessa’s room on purpose, not just because of Kai, but because La Expansión had connections with the Italian Mafia.

  That’s all they told me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the DEA had ulterior motives. I’m well aware I’m a pawn in the government’s hand and a liability in the organized crime world if my identity is revealed. Maybe venturing out into Society Hill isn’t the best idea. “Probably better not to. My parents are big on me getting the full academic experience—dorm and all.”