by Parker Grey
Ella
I pay the taxi my last seventeen dollars, and the man drives off without another word. My father’s mansion is in front of me, massive and stone with ivy crawling up the walls.
For a fleeting moment, I miss him again. I think of how, after my mom died and before he married Livia, it was just the two of us. Sometimes we’d eat spaghetti with ketchup for dinner, watching TV. I know he wasn’t the perfect parent, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized that he was just trying to do his best in the wake of my mom’s death.
But I sigh, shake my head, and make my way toward the house. I’m barefoot, but the grass is soft between my toes. I don’t know how I’m going to get Thomas’s friend’s shoes back to him, but I’ll have to find a way.
The gate clicks softly toward me, and I let myself in through the door to the servants’ quarters, holding my breath. I know that if the three of them are awake — and, God forbid, if they’ve noticed I’m missing — there could be hell to pay, but I’m honestly not worried. I’ve still got plenty of time to change, shower quickly, then make them coffee and breakfast before they have any idea that anything happened.
As I walk down the hall, holding my torn dress together with one hand, I think one last time about turning around and going back. Maybe if I told Grayson everything he would help me. After all, last night was amazing, and that must mean something—right?
I roll my eyes at myself.
Everyone knows about Prince Grayson, I think. The moment you wanted to do something besides have sex, he’d get bored and start looking for someone else.
Better to leave on your own terms, like you did, rather than have him kick you out unceremoniously.
Last night was amazing — better than amazing — but there’s no way it can happen again. This is my real life, and that was fantasy.
With a sigh, I push my bedroom door open, already running down the list of what I have to do that day — breakfast, wash the floors, laundry and ironing, dust the sitting room — but then I stop in my tracks, the list fading instantly from mind in shock.
I just stand there, my bedroom door half open, totally frozen.
Run, I think. Maybe you can just run and this will work.
But I don’t. I’m like a deer in the headlights, and besides, where would I run?
“Good morning, Ella,” says Livia from the chair she’s sitting in, her hair pulled back, her eyes ice chips. “Late night?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grayson
What do you mean, you lost her?” my father thunders. We’re in the throne room, though it’s empty except for us, and his voice echoes through the vast, empty space.
“I mean, she left, and I don’t...”
I trail off, frustrated. I already feel like an idiot for not even knowing her last name, but I have this urgent, pressing fear that something in Ella’s life is wrong.
That she needs me, and I’m standing here, arguing with my father.
“I didn’t get her contact information,” I finish lamely.
My father just glares, his arms folded across his chest. We’re standing behind the thrones, stained glass windows throwing blotches of colored light across us.
“You disappear from the ball with a commoner that no one knows, you don’t bother to come back, and now you’re telling me you don’t know who she is or how to reach her?”
He stalks to the other end of the dais, looking out at the vast room.
“You know, Grayson, a smart man might not believe you right now,” he says, too angry to turn and look at me. “A smart man might think that you’re trying to pull one over on him so you can have a few more weeks of whoring around with every floozy in the kingdom.”
“Father, I’m not, I swear,” I say, my voice almost pleading. “It’s not what you think. Ella is different, she’s special, she’s—”
I stop short, because I can’t even put it into words how I feel about her. I barely know her, but I know I’d go to the ends of the earth to find and protect her.
Slowly, my father turns. He gives me a long, hard look, his hands clasped behind his back. I stand my ground, even though he’s the only person in the entire kingdom who has any sort of power over me.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he finally says, his eyes boring into mine.
I straighten, meeting his gaze squarely.
“What’s that?”
“If I divert kingdom resources to help you find her, you marry this girl. Assuming she says yes.”
Ten days ago, the mere thought would have made me nauseous. I’d have laughed in my father’s face at the idea, but now — after last night, after my wild urge to put a baby in Ella’s belly, to make her mine forever — it doesn’t faze me at all.
Actually, I kind of like the idea.
“All right,” I say. “If we find her, I’ll marry her.”
My father doesn’t respond, just lifts one eyebrow.
“Shoes,” my sister Aurora says. “You have shoes.”
She doesn’t sound impressed. I sigh.
“The chief inspector said he thought they looked custom,” I say, slouching back on my couch.
We’re sitting in one of the palace’s TV lounges, this one only for the royal family and their guests. Some show is playing on the TV, but instead, I’m trying to tell my sister about what’s happening.
“You have a custom shoe, then,” Aurora deadpans. “Can’t be many of those in a city of several million.”
“It’s all I have!” I nearly shout. “I’ve got her first name and her shoes. I didn’t get her last name, her phone number, her address.”
“Maybe she’ll contact you,” Aurora suggests, always reasonable.
I sigh again and run one hand through my hair.
“I think she’s in trouble,” I mutter.
Aurora looks at me.
“What?”
“I think there’s something wrong,” I say. “I don’t know, she was... a little weird a few times, like something was off.”
“Or this mystery girl you boned last night is a little weird,” Aurora says, shrugging. “At least you’re smart enough to wrap it up.”
I go dead silent.
“Grayson.”
I can’t even meet Aurora’s eyes.
“Did you—”
She stops suddenly, looking around the room.
“Did you fuck some crazy nameless girl without a condom?”
“She’s probably on the pill or something,” I mutter.
“Oh my god,” Aurora says, covering her face with both hands. “Oh my God. You’re going to have a bastard. It’s gonna fuck up the line of succession, you moron, there’s gonna be a civil war in fifty years and it’s gonna be because the legendary Idiot King Grayson the First boned a crazy chick.”
I don’t even have it in me to argue with Aurora. My little sister has always been the reasonable one, the one who was studious and smart in school, my solid rock through my wild life.
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “I just... I just need to find her, Aurora.”
Her face softens, even though she rolls her eyes a little.
“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d start by taking those shoes to strip joints,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows at her, opening my mouth, but she holds up one hand.
“I don’t want to insinuate anything, but have you looked at them? Look at them. Those aren’t regular people shoes. Just trust me.”
I heave yet another sigh, and stand up.
“I do,” I say. “Thanks, Rory.”
She makes a face as I leave, because she hates it when I call her Rory.
Chapter Twenty-FIve
Ella
Two Weeks Later
I open the fridge, grab the pitcher of margaritas, and pour Slade another one. My monitoring bracelet clanks against my ankle as I walk, a constant, heavy reminder of what’s happened.
Livia happened. That’s what. When I came home that morning, she knew
. She saw me at the ball and she watched me disappear with the Prince and never come back, and she was furious.
She screamed that she owned me, that I was common dirt and not fit for royalty, that all I was good for was cooking and cleaning. She told me I’d never amount to anything, I’d never get out of her house, and my debt would never be repaid.
Then, to add insult to injury, she put this anklet on me. It’s for house arrest, but she’s either paid off or fucked half the police department, so two officers stood there and watched while she put it on me.
There was no escape. There’s never been any escape.
Slade doesn’t even look at me when I deliver her the margarita, just keeps her eyes closed as she bakes in the sun. I can practically smell her roasting.
I’m no sooner back in the kitchen than the doorbell rings, and I blink in surprise. We hardly ever have visitors — it’s not like these three are capable of close friendships — so I hesitate a moment before moving toward the front door to answer it.
Seconds later, Livia pushes past me, turning as she walks.
“Ella,” she commands. “Basement. Now.”
I hesitate, thinking that maybe she’ll bustle off without waiting for me to hide, and I can stay near. Maybe it’s Flynn, wondering where I’ve been for two weeks. It could even be cops that Livia hasn’t paid off, looking for me.
But she stands there, glaring, and I head to the basement door, walk down a few of the creaky wooden stairs, and shut it behind me, sitting down so I can listen at the door.
There are two people, it sounds like, and I think they’re both men but it’s hard to tell. The front door is pretty far from the basement door, so sound is muffled at best and obliterated at worst. It takes them a while, but eventually they seem to leave. I don’t hear their car drive away — too far, I guess — but after a long time, the door opens.
For some reason, I get my hopes up, that maybe they arrested Livia and now it’s the police or maybe even Grayson himself coming to rescue me.
But it’s not. It’s her, glaring icy daggers at me, like I’ve done something to upset her just by sitting here in the dark.
“Come out,” she snaps, and I walk up the few stairs again, not even bothering to look at her.
“The chandelier needs to be cleaned before you go to bed tonight,” she says, her voice hard-edged.
I just close my eyes and don’t respond. The chandelier takes me hours to clean, it’s already the late afternoon, and I have to make dinner.
“Okay,” I say, my voice listless.
Whatever her problem is, she’s won. I had one night of fun, and now apparently, I’ll be paying for it forever.
But it’s okay. It was worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grayson
Another Week Later
The Chief Investigator, Jacques, pulls into the parking lot of the Hot Lips Lounge with me in the passenger seat. It’s late afternoon, late enough for the performers to be there but not late enough for it to be crowded.
“You ready for this?” Jacques asks, sounding tired and weary. He didn’t sound like that when we were going to strip club after strip club, searching for the owner of these shoes.
I’m positive that Ella was born female, but I’m grasping at straws. Maybe a drag queen at least knows something.
“Let’s do this,” I say, and we get out of the car.
At the front door, we’re greeted by a drag queen whose heavily made up eyes instantly go wide when she sees us. I don’t even have to introduce myself, she just curtsies almost to the ground, despite her high heels.
I’m kind of impressed. Those things look dangerous. Jacques holds up a shoe.
“Would you happen to have any idea whether these belong to a performer here?” he asks, his voice flat.
She purses her lips.
“They sure could. A little small for a queen, though.”
The drag queen looks me up and down, then bats her eyelashes.
“Want to come backstage and ask around, sweetie? I’m sure they’d love to see you.”
Jacques opens his mouth, and I can tell he’s going to say no so I step in front of him, cutting him off.
“Yes, absolutely,” I say, and we follow her to the back of the club.
“These might be Madeline’s,” says Minx July, a saucy redhead in a shimmering purple dress. “She’s got tiny little feet. Hey, Madeline! Girl, are these yours?”
A small, raven-haired queen in a short green dress sashays over, and when she sees the shoes, her face lights up.
“Yes, they are, where on earth have these beauties been? I swear I let Charlize borrow them a couple of weeks ago and that whore never gave them back—”
“Who’s Charlize?” I cut in, my heart suddenly pounding. It’s the first good news we’ve gotten since we started searching, the first time anyone’s had a clue about these shoes.
“She’s our weekend headliner,” Madeline says, giving me back the shoe and tilting her head. “Come on, she’s this way.”
Charlize is an Amazon in a blonde wig carefully dabbing lipstick on with a delicate brush, if drag queens can be Amazons. She turns to us when we walk up to her.
“Oh my Jesus,” she says, and curtsies. “Your Highness, I had no idea you were going to be here tonight.”
“I’m afraid we’re not here for the show,” I say, my whole body finally vibrating with excitement.
We’re close. I can feel it. After weeks of having no luck at all, of thinking that maybe I’d lost my mind, we’re finally close.
“Can I help you with something else?” Charlize asks, tilting her head to one side.
Jacques holds up the shoe, and Charlize gasps.
“You found that little tart!” she exclaims. “I borrowed those when I shouldn’t have, and she got me into hot water with Madeline, let me tell you—”
“Ella?” I practically shout. “I need to find the girl who borrowed these, it’s incredibly important. Please, if you can tell me anything at all.”
Charlize looks surprised at my sudden outburst, and one hand drifts to her chest.
“Sweet little thing. She’s a good friend of my boyfriend’s, and she has this terrible stepmother who’s basically enslaved her, and she needed an outfit for a ball...”
Her eyes widen, and I can practically see her putting two and two together.
“I met her at the ball,” I say quietly. “She left without saying goodbye, and I’ve been looking for her ever since. I’d give anything to find her.”
Charlize already has her phone out, dialing a number.
“Flynn, baby, it’s me,” she says, her voice surprisingly calm. “Prince Grayson is here asking about Ella. Think you can help?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ella
I stare at the calendar hanging in the kitchen, chewing on the inside of my lip. I feel like an alligator has my insides in its jaws, and it’s trying to crush me to death.
I’m pretty sure my period’s a week late. I say pretty sure because I’ve never kept track all that well — it happened about once a month, everything always seemed normal, and I was definitely not getting pregnant, so I didn’t bother.
Now I wish I had. I think I’d give almost anything to go back in time and write down when I started my last period, because I wish I knew whether I was giving myself an ulcer over nothing.
I try to tell myself that I’m remembering wrong, and it’s just because of stress that I haven’t gotten it yet. Stress is probably also why everything I’ve eaten in the last week has made me feel mildly nauseous, and why my breasts hurt so bad that rolling over wrong in bed wakes me up.
Getting pregnant your first time would be crazy, I tell myself. What are the odds? Chill out.
Not to mention that I’m terrified of what Livia might do to me if I were pregnant.
Speaking of the devil, she walks into the kitchen and stands imperiously in the doorway.
“Basement, now,” she spits.
“Can’t I just be quiet? Dinner will burn—”
“Was I unclear?” she snaps.
I turn off the burners on the stove, wiping my hands on a towel. She stands there, glaring at me, until she’s interrupted by someone knocking on the door.
No. They’re not knocking. They’re pounding on the door. Even Livia jumps, and for once she actually looks shaken.
“Basement!” she orders, just as the pounding begins again. I put the towel down on the counter and walk toward the basement door, only to be interrupted.
“LIVIA TREMAINE, THE ROYAL GUARD DEMANDS THAT YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW.”
My mouth falls open and my heart leaps into my throat.
It’s Grayson.
Livia turns pale, then bright red, and she marches toward me, her icy eyes narrowing.
“Get the fuck into that basement or I swear I’ll—”
The pounding starts again, and now I can hear footsteps coming down the stairs like a drunk elephant.
“Jesus, Mom,” Slade is saying. “Where the fuck is Ella, can’t she do her job for once? I’m trying to sleep.”
Livia whirls around, her eyes wide and panicked.
“Slade, do not open—”
The hinges creak.
“Huh?” Slade says.
“Where’s Livia Tremaine?” Grayson barks.
Livia lunges for me, taking me totally by surprise. Before I can move she’s grabbed me by the hair and yanks me backwards, nearly knocking me off my feet as she pulls me toward the basement door.
“Ow!” I yelp.
“ELLA!”
Feet stomp through the foyer. Slade makes an oof noise, and Livia just grits her teeth and drags me harder.
“I’m here!” I shout, my voice sounding strangled, my eyes burning with tears.
“Shut up, you stupid tramp,” Livia growls as I put my hands around her wrist, trying to get her off of me.