Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

  “I’m surprised there aren’t more people living here,” she says, looking around the large empty space. “I stayed with a family in New York over one of my breaks. Their place is about an eighth of this one, and they had three fulltime staff.”

  “We used to have a lot. But after my mom died, the staff wouldn’t stop giving interviews to the gossip rags about how sad our family was. Dad fired everyone except Sandra, our cook.” I jerk a thumb toward the stove. “And she only works a few days a week now because she’s got a grandbaby she helps take care of. I like it better this way. How’d you like the north?”

  “It was cold in the winters. Really cold. I don’t miss that at all. I loved the seasons, though. Spring and fall were my favorite.”

  “How long were you away?”

  “Three years.” She hesitates, and I know she wants to ask me questions about my mother’s death and probably the scandal that happened earlier this year. But instead of launching into a gossip hunt, she tosses me a towel. “Use this so you don’t burn your hands.”

  “Good call.” I gingerly remove the glass dish. “Can we share? Or do I need to get some plates?”

  “We can share. Do you want water or something else?”

  I really want a beer, but I figure Hartley might not like that. She didn’t seem thrilled that I was drunk the night she found me after the poker game.

  “Water’s fine.”

  After we demolish the bowl of pasta, Hartley asks to use the bathroom. I show her the one off the kitchen and then go down the hall to use the other first floor bathroom.

  When I get back, I hear Hartley and Lauren’s voices. I guess Lauren came downstairs to get something, although I’m shocked she didn’t just order one of her servants to do it.

  I don’t mean to eavesdrop on them. I really don’t. But before I can step into the kitchen, Lauren says something that glues my feet to the floor.

  “Nice to see you’re making use of the Royal name.”

  “What do you mean?” Hartley sounds confused.

  “I mean, there are serious perks to dating a Royal. It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Lauren’s smug, flippant tone makes my shoulders stiffen. This chick is the worst.

  “I’m not dating a Royal. Easton and I are just friends.”

  Lauren snickers. “Girl, come on. Friends don’t buy each other expensive jewelry.”

  “What? Oh, you mean this thing? Easton got it from a candy machine.”

  “Right. The Candy Machine.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s a custom jewelry place over on Sixth. The charms start at five grand and go up from there.” There’s a moment of silence as Lauren mentally adds up the baubles inside the clear glass heart on Hartley’s necklace. “You’ve got three charms in there. Mostly diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. I’m guessing that set Easton back about fifteen grand. Not that he can’t afford it. Like I said, it’s a good start.”

  “But…I don’t want him buying me expensive stuff,” Hartley protests, and I curse Lauren for bringing up the subject. It was hard enough getting Hartley to agree to accept the gift in the first place.

  “Oh, please, don’t act all innocent. Dating the Royals means dealing with their messed-up family. Might as well be compensated for it, right?”

  I back up a little and then stomp on the floor so the girls will hear me coming. Sure enough, they both fall silent. Lauren smiles broadly when I walk into the kitchen. Hartley has a stormy look on her face.

  She holds up the necklace the moment she sees me. “I can’t keep this.”

  I fight the urge to glare at Lauren. “Why not?”

  “It’s too expensive. I can’t go around wearing a necklace that costs this much.”

  At the counter, Lauren heaves an irritated sigh, as if Hartley has let her down. She grabs her water glass and leaves the kitchen without a backward glance.

  “Why not?” I repeat, focusing on Hartley again. “It’s not like you’re poor. You’ve got a trust fund.”

  “The only trust fund I have is for academic purposes. It’s from my grandma and I can only use it for lessons, tuition, stuff like that. That’s how I’m able to go to Astor.”

  I watch as she fumbles with the clasp, tugging and pulling like the gold chain is burning her skin.

  “Help me,” she orders.

  “No.” I back away. Taking the necklace off would be a loss, and I don’t want to feel that.

  “I’m serious, Easton. I don’t feel comfortable keeping it. I’d never be able to afford something like this. Why do you think my dad—” She cuts herself off. “I can’t take this.”

  “What were you going to say about your dad?” I press.

  “Nothing.”

  I let out an annoyed groan. “Why do you always have to be so difficult? Why is your life such a secret?”

  She stops fiddling with the clasp for a moment. “What does it matter?”

  “Because we’re friends. Because I want to get to know you better.” And because I’m tired of being the one who’s doing all the sharing. I’ve told her things I haven’t told anyone else. Meanwhile, she continues to be all mysterious, acting like she’d rather shave her head than confide in me.

  There’s a tiny flicker of scorn in her eyes. “Yeah, you keep throwing around the friend word. You keep saying you’re cool with just being friends. But a part of me feels like it’s a long con or something. Like you’re doing all this because you want to get in my pants.”

  I curl my fists against my sides. “If you believe that, why are you even here?”

  She goes silent again.

  “You’re lucky I decided to keep my hands off you.”

  Her mouth falls open. “Lucky?”

  “Yeah. Because if I wanted us to be naked, we’d be naked. I’m just playing the game the way you want right now.”

  “Wow. Real nice, Easton.” She jerks hard on the chain, and the fragile clasp gives way. “Thanks for the game, movie, and food.”

  Fuck.

  “Wait. Don’t go. I was joking.”

  She drops the necklace on the counter without meeting my eyes. “Uh-huh. I’ve got to take off now.”

  I tamp down a burst of anxiety. The night’s barely begun and I definitely don’t want to be home alone. “Come on, Hartley. I stayed in for you tonight and you’re leaving already? Over what? Because I jokingly hit on you?”

  “No, because I’m tired and I want to go home. You didn’t have to stay in. It was your choice.” She strides out to the front hall.

  I snatch the necklace off the counter and chase after her, the gold chain dangling between my fingers. “I made that choice because it’s what friends do, remember? Make sacrifices.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” she replies coolly.

  I can feel my temper boiling. “I won’t. In fact, you can find your own ride home.”

  She jerks the heavy oak doors open. “I will.”

  And then she leaves.

  She just…walks out the door, down the steps and keeps going. I watch her from the foyer window, her slender frame getting tinier and tinier as she makes her way down the driveway.

  Not once does she look back.

  I’m glad she’s gone, I tell myself. I’ve been dying for a drink, and now that I don’t have to worry about making her uncomfortable, I can get that drink. I stare at the necklace in my hand, tempted to whip it against the wall. In the end, I shove it in my pocket, because Lauren was right. Damn thing did cost fifteen grand. Might as well save it for the next girl. This time I’ll pick someone who’s grateful and actually appreciates me.

  I stomp off to Dad’s study and raid the liquor cabinet. The only stuff that’s left is his disgusting port. I guzzle the sweet shit down, anyway. Booze is booze. This’ll get me the buzz that I need.

  I can’t believe her. I’ve been nice to her. I’ve stood up for her. I’ve protected her. She should be glad. She should be on her little knees thanking me for throwing the mantle of the Royals
over her.

  The mantle of the Royals?

  I nearly puke in my mouth. Is that the kind of person I’ve turned into? No wonder she didn’t want to spend more time with me.

  I fumble around and look for another bottle. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the warnings of my brothers, telling me not to flush my life down the tube.

  “No pills. No drugs,” I tell my imaginary brothers. “Just a little booze. Nothing wrong with that.”

  As I tip the bottle against my lips, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall. My mom’s picture used to be up there. Now it’s a reflective monstrosity. How can the old man stand to look at himself? Wait, he’s never here, so that’s why.

  I’m the only one here, drinking crap I can’t stand because I don’t want to spend a minute of my life alone. My head’s a bad, bad place.

  I clench the bottle tighter in my fist. Drinking alone is for losers. I, Easton Royal, am not a loser. I finish off the bottle and grab a second one and stumble toward the beach.

  Chapter 21

  The walk to Felicity’s is a blur, but I find myself at the right spot. Or at least what appears to be the right spot, judging by the number of bodies smashed on one patch of sand.

  “Easton Royal!”

  I hear my name called out by a number of kids. Felicity must’ve invited non-Astor peeps, because I recognize the faces of some folks who’ve started college already.

  “Hey, Felicity’s been looking all over for you,” someone says. “She’s pretty pissed. You may want to hide.”

  “Stu brought girls from college down. They’re so fine.” Another guy bites his fist. “I can’t wait to graduate.”

  “Where’s the booze?” I mutter.

  “Pool house. But…man, you look lit already. Sure you need anymore?”

  “If I want your input, I’ll ask for it.”

  I shove past him, not even registering who it was. Up the small incline, I spot the pool, pool house, and a small dance floor set off to the side. Ella’s on it with Val. They love to shake their booties.

  I grab a glass out of some dude’s hand and make my way over. Behind me, there’s a scuffle and some protests, but I flip the guy off and then ignore him. He can get another drink easily. I muscle over to the girls, spilling half my drink along the way.

  “God, who’s the drunk—” Lindsey from Government breaks off mid-rant. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Got a problem with me?” I drawl.

  “No,” she replies, but her eyes say a different thing.

  I give her a cool smile and step to the side. “Good call.”

  “Asshole,” she mutters under her breath.

  “Bitch.”

  A meaty hand grabs my shoulder. “I heard that, Royal. You’re the one spilling shit all over people.”

  Blearily, I peer into the new face. It’s Zeke, Lindsey’s thick-necked boyfriend.

  “I know you don’t get enough attention at home, Zeke, but you’re barking up the wrong tree,” I inform him. “Either get your hands off my Tom Ford original or fork over the grand for a replacement.”

  A red-faced Zeke hauls back to deliver a punch. If it landed, it would’ve hurt like hell, but he moves slower than a snail. I duck under his grip, grab his wrist, and pull it up behind his back. He falls to his knees.

  Lindsey cries out. Then another voice yells my name.

  “Easton! Easton!” A pair of small hands ineffectually push at me. It’s Ella. She looks worried.

  “What’s up, baby sis?”

  “What’re you doing?”

  I whip my free hand wide and the remaining liquid in my glass splashes over the rest of the dance floor. “I’m here to party.”

  “You’re drunk.” She claws at my fist—the one that’s gripping Zeke tight.

  “Two gold stars for you! I’d clap for you but my hands are full.” I lift the glass high. If I bring it down at the right angle, I could knock Zeke out. That might be fun.

  Lindsey’s screaming has turned into sad little cries. I start humming to drown her out.

  “Where’s Hartley?” Ella demands.

  “Who cares.” My throat seizes up on the lie. I care. I care too fucking much.

  “Easton, please.”

  “You beg like that when you’re with Reed?” I wink at her. Or try to, at least. “That must be why you carry his balls in your purse.”

  Her worried face turns ice cold. “You’re drunk,” she repeats. “Go home.”

  Another set of hands joins Ella’s. These are big and strong and almost manage to get Zeke out of my grip.

  Bran’s face swims into view. “Hey, dude. We’re going to play Frisbee football and could use another body.”

  “It’s too dark,” I grumble.

  “Nah, Bran stuck some LED lights on it,” Pash says at my side. “Come on.”

  Reluctantly, I let go of Zeke. Lindsey collapses on his back, which doesn’t look comfortable at all. I start to say something, but Bran and Pash drag me away. Last thing I see is Ella’s stormy face.

  I guess I hurt her feelings again. I’ll have to apologize in the morning. She’s so sensitive.

  Someone tosses a lighted disc in the air.

  “Got a joint?” I ask.

  “Let’s just play,” Bran says with a sigh. “We don’t need anyone smoking pot tonight.”

  I turn on Bran. “Are you monitoring my recreational habits now?”

  “Just trying to keep the captain of our defense healthy and suspension free.”

  The disc comes hurtling in our direction. Bran leaps up and catches it before it hits me between the eyes. “Maybe Frisbee is the wrong plan tonight,” he says wryly.

  Pash nods. “Maybe we should chill at my house? We could watch a movie.”

  “Movie? The last thing I want to do is a movie.” I slap one fist against my palm. “How about we fight?”

  “There will be no fighting at my party!” Felicity’s shrill voice says.

  I pivot to see her standing a few feet away. Her eyes are spitting fire. I wonder why she’s so mad. Then I remember. She wanted to break up with me here where everyone could see.

  Well, I’m happy to oblige.

  “Felicity. There you are.” I walk over and wrap an arm around her shoulder. “My pretend girlfriend. Hey everyone,” I call out. “We’ve got something to share with you. Felicity has an announcement. She’s going to break off our fake relationship.”

  There’s a hushed silence, broken by a few female titters.

  I back off and spread my arms wide. “I’m here. Have at it. Whatever you want to say to break it off, say it. Make it look good.”

  “Easton, let’s go home.” Ella shoves her way to the front of the crowd.

  “No can do, baby sis. I promised my pretend girlfriend she can humiliate me in front of all our friends.” I wave at Felicity again. “Stage is all yours.”

  Her mouth’s screwed up into a tiny circle of disapproval, as if someone stitched around the edges and then pulled the threads tight.

  “You’re an evil, cruel bastard, Easton Royal,” she hisses.

  “That’s all you got? This from one of the bitchiest girls at Astor Park Prep? Come on. Don’t let me down,” I gesture with both hands to bring it, but it’s not her that delivers the blow.

  “Sorry about this, but I think you’ll thank me in the morning.” Bran leans back and then lets his fist fly. It’s the last thing I see.

  * * *

  I wake up to blinding light and a marching band traipsing around in my head. An agonized groan slides out, which only causes the marching band to play louder. The pounding drumbeat throbs in my temples and pulsates in my gut, until the waves of nausea it produces has me lurching out of bed and racing to my private bath.

  I puke until there’s nothing left to puke, and I kneel there dry-heaving for a few minutes. Eventually I find the strength to stand up. I brush my teeth and chug two glasses of water. I shower. I shave. By the time I step back into the bed
room and put on a pair of sweatpants, I feel halfway normal.

  Hangovers blow. Mine aren’t usually this bad, though. I can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling so shitty after a night of boozing. Granted, I did drink quite a lot last night. Enough to act like a total ass, piss off Felicity, and take a fist in the face courtesy of Bran Mathis.

  “How much did you have to drink last night?” My frowning father appears in the open doorway of my bedroom. “You’re never getting back in that cockpit if you don’t straighten up.”

  “Who says I had anything to drink?” I challenge.

  “It’s eight in the morning and you just spent the past ten minutes retching loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. So I repeat—how much did you have to drink?”

  He’s using that commanding boardroom voice that scares the pants off of his business associates. But I’m not one of his associates—I’m his kid, which means I know firsthand that Callum Royal is a total pussy outside the office. He’s let me and my brothers run wild for years, even before Mom died.

  “Maybe I’m sick with the stomach flu—did you ever think of that, Dad?” I shoot him a defiant look. “I love how you immediately think the worst of me.” Muttering under my breath, I stalk over to my walk-in closet and yank open the double doors.

  Across the room, Dad’s face takes on a stricken expression. “I’m sorry, son. Are you ill?”

  “Nah.” I glance over with a grin. “Hungover.”

  “Easton.” He runs a frazzled hand through his hair. It’s the same dark brown as mine and my older brothers’. The twins’ hair is a few shades lighter. “Of all my kids, you’re the one who’s going to give me gray hair, you know that, right?”

  “Obvs. Gid’s too much of a prude. So’s Reed.” I cock my head thoughtfully. “Actually, the twins might be worse than I am. You know they’re dating the same girl—”

  “I can’t hear you!” Dad grumbles, covering his ears as he quickly backs out of my bedroom.

  I snort to myself, because, damn, my dad’s gotten kinda cool ever since Ella moved in with us. Before that, he never made time to check in on us or lecture us about our crazy behavior.