by Ruby Vincent
He shrugged. “I had more than a little and not nearly enough. Answer your question?”
“You missed a button,” I said simply.
Nathan jerked his chin. “Look. Your boyfriend is here. You can stop pouting now.”
I followed his line of sight to my supposed boyfriend and landed on Carter. The sandy-haired son of an oil tycoon climbed the dais.
“It’s about time you got here, Knight. Preston was pitching a fit because you two won’t get to run around Europe boning each other.”
“I’d never bone Preston,” he said without skipping a beat. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you.”
“You and everyone here, my friend.” Nathan folded his arms behind his head. “You and everyone here.”
Carter snapped his fingers. Two servers materialized almost immediately. “Serve the first course.”
“But, sir, Mrs. Desai said—”
“Are you still here?” he snapped.
They hurried off the stage for the kitchen. Today was not a good day for the staff. In Carter’s case, he wasn’t being a jackass just because he could. My mom would be twice as pissed if Nathan didn’t sober up. Some food in his stomach would soak up the alcohol.
“It’s a buffet, gentlemen.” I swore Nathan licked his lips. “All this ripe, sweet fruit waiting to be picked and they’re sending them to Citrine Cove with us. What are their fathers thinking?”
“They’re thinking they’ll ruin you with child support if you don’t get your head out of your ass or keep your dick in your pants.” I scanned the room looking for sweet, ripe fruit but found merely distractions from my goal of six years. To become Delilah’s husband and seal our fate as American royalty. “Who are...?”
I trailed off.
The crowd parted, revealing the vision in blue. Light glittered in the diamonds weaved through her hair, drawing every eye that could stand to leave her face into marveling her golden crown. She passed through the mingling guests, headed straight for the door I tried to escape through earlier.
I didn’t realize I was on my feet until Nathan smacked my leg. “Yo. What’s up?”
“I’ll be right back.”
I bounded off the dais, bumping and apologizing to several people on the way. Stepping onto the terrace, I found her where I oddly expected her to be. Resting on the stone bench and looking out over the gardens.
“Cinderella.”
She twisted, frown gracing her lips, and locked eyes on me. I watched the emotions cycle from blank to confusion to impatience and finally—
“You!”
“Me,” I said with a grin. “Good to see I make an impression.”
But nothing like the impression you make.
I took in every inch of her, committing her to a memory that would last me another two years. She was exactly like I remembered her. That day in the modern art museum, passing the time while Delilah shopped next door, I saw a girl staring at the painting of one of my favorite artists and thought I’d impress her with my knowledge.
Then she spoke.
Unleashed a tirade of raw, unfiltered honesty the likes of which I’d never received from anyone in my entire life. But that isn’t what struck me about the blonde-haired, green-eyed girl in the purple dress without a back. No, it was that even though her ranting ruby lips said one thing, her eyes said another. Deep, soul-drowning sorrow reflected in her green pools—stronger with each verbal arrow she flung.
I reached for her unthinkingly, ready to wipe the tears that would surely fall.
Since that day, I’d find myself thinking about her at the oddest times. I’d see a bird fly overhead and wonder why she needed a miracle. I’d be making meaningless small talk with another meaningless person and think Cinderella wouldn’t endure this shit. She’d tell them exactly what she thought.
But what I wondered most days was what her name was and why she looked at me like if I didn’t leave quickly, she’d shatter into pieces.
So walk away I did. But still, I secretly harbored the hope that she’d do it.
Find me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
She doesn’t seem all that thrilled about it, though.
“I live here.” I closed the distance between us, not in the least bit deterred by the hostility radiating off her in droves. “I don’t have to ask why you’re here. After all of this time, you freed yourself from the garden and found me, Cinderella.”
“The name is Belle.”
“Belle.” I tried it on my tongue, rolled it around, and decided I liked it. “Beautiful name. I’m Preston.”
“Well, Preston, I didn’t come here for you,” she said. “I had no clue you were a Desai.”
“Technically, I’m a Du Pont-Desai,” I corrected. “Either way, would you have been nicer to me if you’d known?”
“Unlikely.”
I laughed. “Good. Can’t stand those fools bowing and scraping after me like they’re hoping hundreds will fall out of my pockets.”
“Do you want something? I came out here for peace and quiet.”
“Yes.” I moved even closer. “I want to know if you got your miracle.”
She looked away. “Why would you assume I was speaking about myself?”
“That particular mix of anger, frustration, and despair is personal. You didn’t need me to be your knight, so I’ve been wondering all this time if you saved yourself. Did you?”
“I’m here,” Belle said softly. “So no.”
“You are here.” I glanced at the party inside, suddenly reminded of why all of us were here.
No. No, not her.
I forced the question. “Are you going to the cove?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The reply buoyed me. I pressed to be sure. “You’re not looking for a potential husband in that pool of eligible suitors?”
“I’d rather be impaled through the eyes.” Belle turned her back on me, reclaiming her seat. “Marriage isn’t in the cards for me.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
I joined her in looking out over the gardens. Acres of roses, chrysanthemums, tulips, gushing fountains, and a winding stone path stretched out before us. This was my mother’s pride and joy. She took every guest on a tour through them, gushing about the time and work that went into crafting her paradise. It didn’t seem to matter that she did not plant or water one bush in the entire lawn.
“Why is that?”
“I have my reasons,” she clipped. “What about you, Desai? Looking forward to a summer of women throwing themselves at you left and right?”
“No.” I wielded the same bluntness she used on me two years ago. “What I’m looking forward to is a summer backpacking Europe. Nothing that is going on in there is about me.”
Now she looked at me. “You’re not going to the cove? You don’t want to get married either?”
“No. At least not yet and... not to anyone in there.”
“Have you told your parents?”
“My thoughts on the subject are not needed or asked for.”
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it appeared her wrinkled nose softened. The anger went out of her eyes, leaving only the sadness. “I know what that’s like. Dad and the dame have lost it. I was supposed to go to Europe this summer too. Not just Europe. All the fashion capitals of the world, to draw inspiration before school. They said it’d be my graduation present”—she squared her shoulders—“and it still will be.”
“Fashion capitals? You’re a designer.”
“Yes.”
“Did you design this dress?”
She cracked a smile that punched me straight in the gut. For two years I wished I’d stolen a smile before I left her. I’ve wondered what it looked like and if it pierced the cloud of pain she gathered around herself like armor.
It did.
Belle smiled and everything about her lit up. Her button nose wrinkled cutely and those ruby lips curled imp
ishly—which left me the impression I might get in trouble. Depended on if she used her growing power over me for good or evil.
“You need to brush up on Oscar de la Renta, my friend. Although it is an honor for someone to believe I can design on his level.”
“I’m glad I’ve paid you a compliment through my ignorance.”
She chuckled—a light, exhalation of breath that was over as soon as it started. But all the same, she laughed.
“What were you going to do in Europe?” she asked. “Take advantage of the drinking age? Shake the top hostel bunk with any and everyone who drops their panties? Pretend you’re cultured by popping into a few museums during the day and hitting all the clubs at night?”
“Yes, yes, and... no,” I replied. “My glaring gap in fashion knowledge aside, I’m well-versed in the arts. The Desais own the largest private and public art collection in the world. We have galleries in every country. My visits to the museums wouldn’t have been for show.”
“You’re an artist too.”
I shook my head. “I’m an admirer of art. Sadly, I’m hopeless with a brush, chisel, and charcoal.”
“That’s good. It’s dangerous for your kind to be too perfect.”
“My kind?”
“Living statues.”
My face scrunched in confusion. “Wow, what happened? We were making nice conversation and now I’m a statue.”
That grin played on her lips. “We’re still making nice conversation, or I’d have kicked you off this bench a long time ago.”
“You’d kick me off my own bench?”
“In a heartbeat. Careful I don’t lose interest in you or this conversation.”
“Can’t have that.” I certainly couldn’t. I’d hoard every single second of Belle until she left through my gate.
“The gallery where we met,” I said, “is owned by my family. I walked up to you because you were gazing at one of my favorite paintings like you could truly see it. That lazy, skimming glance that most tourists do pisses me off. They walk amongst hundreds of masterpieces and don’t see a thing.”
“Another flaw.”
I quirked a brow. “What is? My disdain for philistines?”
“No. Admitting that is one of your favorite paintings. I believe I laid out a very strong argument for why that story and the reasons for emulating it are bullshit.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “You made some good points, I don’t deny it. But it’s still my favorite painting.” I reached for her, and this time, didn’t pause at the invisible barrier she erected around herself. Brushing her cheek, my chest tightened realizing it was softer than I imagined. “Because it drew me to you.”
Belle whistled. “Damn, dude. What a line.” She pulled back. “Would you have laid that one on me if I hadn’t chased you away at that gallery? Gotta say, it’d make most girls go weak-kneed.”
I dropped my hand. “But not you.”
She nodded, smiling wryly. “I’m immune to your kind.”
“Statues?” I guessed.
“Exactly.”
“What makes me a statue?”
“You’re beautiful.”
“I’m beaut—? That’s a bad thing?”
“It’s the worst thing,” she replied. “You know the story of sirens? Mythical sea creatures of such otherworldly beauty, men would jump to their deaths the minute they open their mouths. There’s a cost for being more gorgeous than anyone has a right to be. The problem is other people pay it.”
I nodded along. “That is... the batshit craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Belle barked a laugh. It startled her. Surprise darkened her eyes as she laughed and kept laughing. The sweetest, soft giggles pealed from her lips and the urge to kiss them came on so strong, I gripped the bench to hold me back. This sad, angry girl was as unpredictable as she was the very beauty she despised. She might kiss me back or she could break my nose.
“But it’s true,” she said when she sobered. “Pretty boys are the meanest.”
“Pretty boys have been mean to you?” I trailed a finger down her arm, traveling over the goose bumps popping on her flesh as I made them. I slipped under her wrist and gently turned her palm up. “Then my kind is also fatally stupid.”
“No argument here.”
“I’m taking a lot of abuse in this conversation.” I traced crisscrossing lines on her palm, holding my breath in anticipation of a smack. For some reason, she didn’t stop me. “Let me prove to you that my lack of artistic ability and fondness for Cinderella are my only two flaws.”
“No one has only two.” She slipped her hand free of me, crossed her legs, and folded them on top. “But I’m listening.”
I looked around. “Right now? I figured I’d list my achievements and characteristics next Friday night, over dinner, before or after the movie. The standard way.”
“A date?” She said the word like it was foreign. “I don’t date, Desai.”
“You don’t date?” I repeated. “What, anyone? Ever?”
“Correct.”
“And you don’t want to get married?”
She clicked her tongue. “Correct again.”
“Are you angling to be a bride of Christ?”
She laughed. I didn’t imagine I’d be this good at making her do that. “If you’re asking if I’m joining a convent, the answer is also no.”
“Okay, then we’re getting somewhere.”
“Are we?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Yes. You don’t want me as a boyfriend and we’ve established you’re not here to snag me as a fiancé. If I can’t offer you my eternal love and commitment”—I threw my hands out—“would you accept my body?”
“Holy shit, Desai,” she cried. “You’re offering up sex five minutes after I learn your name.”
“Pretty much. You know my name. We’re not strangers anymore.”
“Everyone is allowed to know your name,” she said. “But not everyone can sleep with you, or at least, not just anyone can sleep with me.” The devilish smirk returned. “If you want into this exclusive club, you’ll have to give up more than the scraps you share with the masses.”
“Like what exactly?”
“A beautiful, smooth-talking siren like you.” She rose to her feet. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Where are you going?”
“Where I belong,” she replied as she stepped off the terrace. “In the garden.”
Chapter Two
Belle
Preston trailed me along the stone path. Of course he did. Sex was on the table now and he wouldn’t set his knife and fork down until he was satisfied.
Pretty boys are also predictable.
I peeked at him over my shoulder. But rarely as intriguing.
The way he spoke about tourists who visit galleries to pass an hour instead of taking the time to appreciate, reminded me of people walking around in scuffed Gucci sneakers, throwing their handwash-only Balenciaga sweater in the heavy cycle, or dropping their lunch on their Prada skirts. I wasn’t a fashion snob. It wasn’t the label itself so much that clothes were no less a work of art. The designer tells a story in the stitches, cuts, and lines. We should witness that story like we should in paintings and sculptures.
Speaking of...
My living sculpture followed two steps behind, keeping pace with me as I rounded a small fountain of a beauty pouring water from her jug. He was even more breathtaking than I remembered. Two years had filled him out in all the right places. His hair had grown past his ears, curling slightly at the ends. I had the urge during his bold exploration of my body to return the favor. See if his hair was truly as soft as it looked.
“Why are you following me?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.
“I didn’t last time and you disappeared from my life for two years. Can’t let that happen again.”
“And the hope of sex has nothing to do with it?”
“Oh, that’s got a lot to do with it.”
“You had to let me disappear,” I reminded. “I had to go off, save myself, and then return to find you.”
“Seems you skipped one of those steps.” Preston bounded the final two steps and swung me around. “Should I dust off my armor now?”
“Why?” I caressed his cheek the way he did mine. “I thought your body was all you were offering.”
“It’s not all I’m offering. It’s all I think you’ll accept. Feel free to tell me I’m wrong.”
“Oh, Desai.” Snaking my arms around his shoulders, I rose on tiptoe, pausing as his nose brushed mine. He grasped my waist automatically, pulled me closer still.
Shit. Is that...?
A hard bulge pressed against my thigh undeterred by the layers of tulle between us.
Statues don’t have this going for them. But still.
“You have no idea what you’d be getting into with me,” I whispered. “I wouldn’t let you try to save me. I don’t hate anyone that much.” I stepped out of his hold. “Let’s stick to sex—which you haven’t convinced me to give you, by the way.”
I continued my walk along the path. Preston fell in step with me. “You say you want more than a name. Fair. Most people do. But then followed with a request for something I don’t give to just anyone. Does friendship count?”
Lifting my shoulders, I said, “If we wait until we’re friends, you’ll be waiting a while. The people I call my friends are also an exclusive club.”
“How long a wait are we talking? One— Maybe two hours?”
I shoved him, stifling in another laugh.
“No to that option, then.”
“How about this? You don’t need to give me something you haven’t given anyone, you have to tell me something you haven’t told anyone. Something real,” I said. “A secret that matters.”
“A secret.” Preston stepped in front of me and stopped, ending our walk under a canopy of trees. The tinkle of champagne glasses and polite mingling didn’t reach this far from the mansion. It was just us. “More than that—one that matters. That’s a big ask. You’re the one who reminded me we learned each other’s names only ten minutes ago.”