Bennett chuckles, taking out some scones from the bread box and putting water in the teapot. “I know some of those kids and professors can be harsh, but know your worth, Nora. You are bloody smart, smarter than any person I know. Focus on that and you’ll be okay. Tea?”
Since living in London, I’ve found that tea and biscuits are the answer to every problem. I’m not sure if I agree, but Bennett does make a mean cup of Earl Grey.
I nod, setting aside the books and papers in front of me. “So, can we finally go to that soccer match you’ve been promising?”
Before moving all the way across the universe, my mom and I had never done any traveling outside of the East Coast of the United States. It’s been Bennett’s mission to take us on a grand tour of his country, and his continent. So far, he’s shown Mom and I the beautiful gardens at Buckingham Palace, we’ve spent an afternoon at London Bridge, and a weekend in Italy which I will never forget in my lifetime.
But, he’s been bragging about the world’s best sport, and I’m anxious to see what the fuss is about.
“First off, it’s called football. Bugger, I cringe at that word. And soon, but not this weekend. We have the annual Regents Dinner this weekend, and that will take up most of your mother and I’s time. But of course, you’ll join us.”
He doesn’t say it as a command, something I’d feared he’d start doing when we moved to be in his home country. No, he says it as an inclusion, like we are a family and we go together. Kind of like Grease or The Parent Trap.
But inside, I cringe just like he does at the word soccer. These galas and dinners and royal events are intimidating to say the least, and I no longer look forward to them.
A fake smile plasters to my face, because I need to keep a brave one on for both of them. “Can’t wait.”
Chapter Four
Nora
Big red double decker buses zoom down the street, cabs stop for passengers, pedestrians spew onto the sidewalks and streets like a complex maze of bodies.
Having grown up in small town suburbia, I'm completely out of my element in a city. Especially a historic, giant metropolis like London.
Not to say that I don't acknowledge the perks of living here. It is beautiful for one; absolutely breathtaking in both its history and modernity. The culture is unlike anything I've ever experienced, from the theater to the underground scene to the royals. A cult-like exclusive existence that I'm now a part of, I guess.
Bennett escorts my mother from our town car onto the sidewalk, and then reaches back in to offer me a hand. I take it gratefully, and my heels hit the pavement in wobbly unsureness. I guess I need to get used to this if I'm to be attending all of these events now.
Camera flashes blind me, the paparazzi trying to capture any ounce of skin or tension between my mother, Bennett and me. They're vultures in the most basic sense; animals picking the bones of any unsuspecting victim. The hack job they've done on my mother and I has been horrific, and I have to refrain from lifting my middle finger in salute. Wouldn't be very royal of me.
Okay, so technically I'm not a royal and never will be. I'm a side attachment, the bastard as much as Jon Snow is. Half of Bennett's family just tightly nods at me whenever I'm in the room.
The Dunmore Ballroom is lit up like a Christmas tree, with red spotlights and a cream-colored carpet adorning the entrance. It’s definitely the grandest affair I’ve been to since we touched down, and I won’t lie and say there aren’t enormous moths flapping around in my stomach. I wipe my damp hands on the navy floor-length wrap dress one of the Palace stylists picked out, and pull the silver wrap around my shoulders a little tighter.
Before my future stepdad fell into our lives, jeans and dusty Converse were the norm. Now? I'm adjusting to cashmere, silk and tulle. The dresses they put me in, the hairstyles they whip up, the way in which the experts make my skin look dewy and sharp at the same time. I reach my left hand up self-consciously and finger a soft, red curl.
I have to admit, the pampering has been easy to get used to. For someone who used to swipe on ChapStick and call it a day, the prettiness of it all is alluring. And even though it may be vain, I feel sexy and womanly in a way I never have before.
“Rachel! Rachel! Will you be wearing the traditional McAlister veil?”
“Has Bennett told you about his past?”
“Nora! Do you still have that bikini?”
The slam of reality into my temples is harsh and blinding, and the bodyguards rush us inside.
We’re tucked into a corner of the foyer, the maroon and gold carpet as rich as the gold leaf wallpaper. Chandeliers hang from every inch of the ceiling, and someone asks if they can take my wrap.
“Will this ever stop?” I hear my mother whisper to Bennett, who presses his lips to the side of her forehead.
“Unfortunately, as much as I want it to, probably not. This is my life, and I don’t know how to apologize for dragging you into it.”
Mom sighs but smiles. “You didn’t, I dragged myself in. And there is nowhere I’d rather be.”
It’s as if they only have the capacity to see each other, and even though she is my parent, it’s very romantic. I guess I never really believed in love the way they seem to have it, until I saw it between them.
“Duke McAlister, your presence is required in the ballroom, now.” A man in a tuxedo appears out of nowhere, looking very official.
And just like that, we all snap to, putting on professional faces. It isn’t like I was forced to take a course on etiquette, but with all of the events I’ve been to in the past three months, I might as well have been.
The rules are numerous and sometimes stuffy. I’m to follow behind my mom and Bennett whenever they enter a room, and none of us can ever touch affectionately in a setting such as this. I’m to excuse myself if I need to get up from the table, and curtsy when the men stand to dismiss me from it. Even though my eighteenth birthday has come and past, I’m only allowed a sip of champagne during a toast, and no more. The salad fork is on the left, higher ranking officials must start a conversation with you and not the other way around, and under no circumstances am I supposed to start a flirtation with anyone. Bennett’s advisor, Jasper, was very clear about that.
“This could be fun, kiddo.” Mom smiles at me just as we’re about to be introduced to the ballroom.
I roll my eyes, showing her my enthusiasm. At least one thing hasn’t changed since our lives were turned upside down, and that’s the relationship we have. It may be corny, but my mom really is my best friend. She’s the yin to my yang, the one who will rub my back when I’m sick and open all of the car windows when a good song comes on in the middle of a summer drive.
“Introducing, Duke Bennett McAlister of Westminster, and his fiancée, Ms. Rachel Randolph, accompanied by her daughter, Miss Nora Randolph.”
The elaborate, floor to ceiling doors open into the ballroom, and the dazzle of hundreds of twinkling chandelier lights hit my corneas before I process anything else. I try to keep my head straight and my gaze forward, but there are too many things to see. Noble men in the most expensive tuxedos I’ve ever seen, the women that accompany them in floor length gowns of the most beautiful colors. Tables set with mile high floral arrangements, with china that must have been forged in the early nineteenth century.
From somewhere over our heads, an orchestra plays a pretty but regal tune, and the entire room stands at attention to greet my future stepfather.
Even with all of its intricacies and headaches, this life was mesmerizing. I may complain about the attention and the rumors, but this was every little girl’s dream in her deepest heart. I was living a princess’s life, and it was moments like this that shook me straight to the core and almost knocked me on my ass.
But just to be sure, I secured my wobbling ankles in my heels. Last thing I needed was the press getting ahold of a story about me falling flat on my face at one of the most important dinners of the year.
After our entrance, we are
seated at one of the head tables, and the boring conversations begin. About policy and the government and polo matches. I largely tune it out, picking at the overly dressed Waldorf salad that’s been set in front of me.
By the time Bennett starts in about a charity theater project he’s heading up, my ears can’t take anymore. “Excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom.”
I get a couple of blank stares from some around the table, and I realize too late that I’ve used an American word.
“Okay, honey, you’ll be okay on your own?” My mom sets a hand on my mine.
“Of course, Mom, I’m not going to fall in.” I whisper this only to her, as bathroom humor doesn’t seem like it would be appreciated in this crowd.
Walking across the ballroom, I feel the eyes glued to me. Some stares are greedy, given by men too old to be looking at me like that. Others are inquisitive, wanting to know more about what lies underneath my skin. And others are malicious, wishing me ill will or harm. When you’ve been stared at the way I have for weeks on end, you get good at gauging the weight of people’s glances. Of feeling their intentions simply from the expression they cast upon you.
Once in the foyer, I head for the direction I think the bathrooms may be.
“HA!” A shrieking laugh captures my attention.
But the sound didn’t come from the hallway I’m in, rather, it came from above. Moving out from the hallway I’ve walked down, I spot a staircase, marble and red carpet sweeping up to a floor I can’t see.
Another sound comes, this one deeper, more male in its tone.
And I’m too curious not to follow it. The sound of my heels is muffled on the carpet as I use the big sloping bannister to climb.
“Give me some of that!” A girlish lilt trickles out of a doorway as my foot hits the top step, and a beam of light splashes onto the marble floor.
“Come over here and take it.” A boy’s voice, laced with innuendo, calls back to her.
“Bloody hell, Ed, this tastes like piss.” Another girl’s voice, deeper than the first one, rings out.
I move closer, trying to get an eye on the first interesting scene I’ve come across all night.
But my hand must hit the wall, or my heel makes a scratching noise on the floor, because before I know it, I’m face-to-face with the same pair of condescending green eyes that assaulted me in the hallway on the first day of school.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
Chapter Five
Asher
Once again, the fawn stuck in headlights falls right into my crosshairs.
Of course, I knew she’d be attending tonight with her crock of a stepfather and gold-digging mother. I hadn’t planned any hijinks or takedowns, but here she was, spying on me and my mates.
Swinging the doors open, I present her grandly to our merry band of drunk spoiled children.
“We have a spy. Or worse, an American.”
Speri, one of the girls who has always run in our circles, giggles as she tips the vodka bottle back onto her lips. Katherine and Eloise sneer, fluffing down their own dresses in obvious jealousy. Drake, the prime minister’s son, starts to clap and hum the American national anthem. Ed laughs, but I see his eyes roaming over her in obvious interest.
And I can’t fault him for that, even though anger simmers in my blood at the thought that my cock finds this peasant appealing. She’s a nobody, a commoner, and yet when she swishes her hips a little, backing up in surprise, my other head perks up, coming to life as the navy material of her dress catches the light from the room behind me.
“Oh come off it, Asher, invite her in. She can be our play thing, plus she’s probably as bored as we are.” Drake winks at her, and the girl’s eyes go wider than the English Channel.
“Yeah, maybe we can get her drunk and make her sing country songs.” Katherine snorts, a sound that is unattractive coming from her thin lips. But as the Duke of Manchester’s cousin, she has a place here, and I can’t risk blowing her off.
I turn back to her, and hold out a hand while flashing her a wolfish smile. “You heard them, come on in. If you dare.”
My challenge seems to light something in her, and embers flare in her irises. “Nora Randolph, although clearly you already know who I am. Which says more about my status than yours, since I have absolutely no idea who any of you are.”
Nora slaps a palm into my own, taking the handshake that was only offered as a sign of intimidation. Behind us, Ed whistles and laughs, saying something about how this girl is brilliant.
The minute our hands connect, a sizzle of electricity races down my spine, landing with a jolt squarely in my balls. The creamy porcelain of her soft skin molds with my larger hand, a hand that could crush her delicate body if I so chose. Nora’s eyes lock onto mine like a heat-seeking missile, looking for any crack in the defense.
I assess just the same, scanning her flawless face, the wisps of fiery red falling down onto her shoulders. The way her dark, murky eyes, the color of Earl Grey tea, spark. How her cheek bones seem to angle up with her chin, both distinct and defiant in their repugnance of me. I let it be known that my eyes are moving down, my brows lifting in challenge as I move over her small but perky breasts. A mouthful if that, but put together so nicely in her party dress. Her frame is small, almost tomboyish at first glance, but I’ve seen the bikini pictures. And I’m a man, I can imagine what it would be like to have her bare, under me.
“You don’t scare me, Nora,” I whisper, using my grip on her hand to pull her marginally closer. “And you’re not fooling anyone. If we wanted you to know who we were, we would have introduced ourselves. But I’ll give you one, since you’re playing a losing game. I’m Asher Frederick, and you may not know my family, but trust me, you want to be scared of me.”
A giggle sounds from behind us as Eloise clears her throat. “Asher’s family is ace at manipulating people into doing what they want them to do.”
I give her another devious smile and drop her hand, much to the dismay of my semi. “Please, your highness, come on in.”
“Princess of the trailer park is more like it.” Speri hiccups.
I back up, turning from Nora and making my way over to a leather wingback chair. The place we’ve taken over at this stuffy event is some kind of conference room. But in true British fashion, it isn’t without it’s roaring fireplace and first edition war manuscripts.
“I’m going to go …” Her unfamiliar accent touches my ears.
“Oh, my arse … back to where? That bloody awful ballroom so old farts can talk about the good ole days? Stay here, beautiful, and let us corrupt you.” Ed gets up and makes his way over to her, shoving a liquor bottle in her hand.
Katherine and Eloise sit spinning an empty beer bottle between themselves on the table, laughing every time it lands on one of them.
I hear the clack of heels, and know she is moving farther into the room. I keep my back turned, eyes to the fire. Her challenging words and little lost fawn expression are affecting me more than I want them to.
“I don’t drink.” She sets the bottle on the table with a clank, and I presume settles into a chair. The give of old leather betrays her.
Drake laughs. “Bugger, that’s depressing. It’s the only way we all manage to get through these smashing soirees. That or shagging.”
Eloise laughs at that. “Rubbish, everyone knows you’re still a virgin.”
“She’s lying, darling. Unless that’s your thing, in which case, I’ve just been waiting for an angel like you.”
“No thanks, I’m not into British assholes.”
Nora’s words make me finally turn around, because she’s being a tosser and thinks she has an upper hand.
“And here I thought she was a slag. But apparently she only likes bloody Americans.” I look around the room, making sure everyone laughs at my joke.
See, this isn’t the extent of our group, but we are the best of them. The ones who get invited by proxy to these dinners, ceremo
nies, political events, grand openings. Our parents and relatives are the ones who hold the most power, who are the cream of the crop when it comes to invitation lists. And I am the ring leader, the one who herds and grooms the pack. If someone isn’t doing something I like, they need to be reminded to fall in line.
Like Eloise said, I’m very good at manipulation.
My friends laugh at my ribbing of Nora, but the poor girl just doesn’t get it.
“A slag?” She looks bored, and I want to punch a wall.
“Slut. Whore. Easy lay. Good time girl. You know, kind of like Katherine,” Eloise chimes in helpfully.
Speri laughs and Katherine hits Eloise quite hard on the arm.
And by the way Nora’s cheeks pink up, I can tell she is none of the above. But it feels brilliant to embarrass her.
“You can join in on the game if you want to.” Katherine lifts an eyebrow at her, and Drake moves to stand near the table too.
“In fact, I think we should all join the game.” Ed takes a swig from the scotch bottle he’s been nursing.
My veins are relatively clear of alcohol, even though I’d been slowly sipping a glass of Macallan over the past hour and a half.
“Spin the bottle? How passé. Let’s go to a club or something instead,” Speri whines.
“While I’d love nothing more, dear old dad would go mental if I left. Plus, I want to spend some time with our new friend.” Drake’s eyes flash, and I know what he’s thinking.
To be honest, I’d rather go cause some mischief out at a club, but this seems like a better idea.
Nora looks so out of her element, it’s laughable. “Isn’t that for grade schoolers? We aren’t twelve.”
Her words hold sarcasm but her eyes tell a different story. She’s scared and uncomfortable, and I want to push all of those buttons.
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