Beautiful Prince (Van der Borne University Book 1)

by Dakota Lee

  I hold out my hand. "Come on." She eyes me, hesitating on whether or not she should touch me. "Stop overthinking it."

  She places her palm in mine and I pull her to her feet, gathering her portfolio and tossing her the satchel full of pencils, that I'm pretty sure is doubling as a purse.

  I feel her tugging to pull away, but I ignore it, keeping our hands joined as we cross the lobby. She's going to need to get used to being seen and touched by me in public. This whole thing hinges on that. I release my grip once we're outside and lead her towards the parking lot.

  "Where are we going?"

  "I'm taking you someplace where I can help you with your nerves about seeing people naked."

  She stops, taking a step back. The look on her face like a deer caught in the headlights of a F250. "I'm not going to a strip club with you."

  Well, that's a random thought to be swimming around in her head. But I like it. I can totally see us in a private room, her eyes wide, her breath coming in heavy pants as we watch the dancer. I'd sit her in my lap and hike her skirt up. Push her panties to the side... Okay, Logan, enough of that. She's not there yet and a hard on would land her firmly in the discomfort zone. This is not seduction time, it's be the friend and support system she needs time.

  "Taking you to a strip club never crossed my mind. But, if you'd like to go." I give her a minute as if expecting her to think about it. "No? Okay, then we'll do plan A. Get in."

  I hold the door open and wait for her to settle in the seat before slamming it shut.

  The drive to our destination takes less than thirty minutes. We exit the car, and she eyes the building and our surroundings with trepidation. I understand the look. The lights are out on both street corners and the storefronts two blocks over were all boarded up. The whole neighborhood used to be amazing. It's in the middle of a real estate battle between the children of the former owners and an investment group who want to build condos.

  "This building used to be a functioning factory, but it was repurposed years ago." I push my key in the lock, holding the heavy metal door open for her. She steps into the entryway and jumps when it closes with a thwank. I lift the gate to the elevator, and once inside, I latch it closed, before pushing the button for the top floor.

  When the elevator car shutters to a stop, I roll the gate open and usher her down the hall. Pushing the barn doors open to my favorite place.

  She steps into the open space and has the reaction I had the first time I came here. "This is a studio?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Yours?"

  "I got it for a good deal. Took me nights and weekends in high school to get it ready. I still have a few things to do, but it's functional."

  I point to my left. "Full bathroom, small kitchen."

  "And a bed." She trips over the word. Damn, just how innocent is she? Did she and the snail get separate rooms?

  "You saw that did you?"

  "Hard to miss, it's in the middle of the room."

  "I crash here when I'm working late and too tired to drive to campus or go home." I pull my shirt over my head. I see her trying to avert her gaze and I take my time walking across the room to get a t-shirt that I don’t mind getting dirty. I wait until I’m in front of my bench before pulling it on.

  "This space is… amazing." She says, walking over to my workbench. "Do you only work with clay?"

  "Iron, wood, marble, metal. Whatever I'm in the mood for." I take the camera off the table behind me, and flick the shutter. "Sometimes it's film." I hold it out to her. "Here."

  "What am I supposed to do with this?"

  "Go over there to that mirror, take a picture of yourself and then," I pull her to the empty easel and plop a blank canvas on it. "Draw what you see."

  "I can't."

  "This is a safe place. Nobody can get in here without being buzzed in, or having a key. So no one will see what you're working on."

  "You'll see."

  I cross to the side of the room. "I promise to respect your work and not peek without permission. And I'll keep my back turned while you're taking the picture. "

  She pushes the Nikon away. "I can't."

  "Because you're scared? A bad photographer? Or because the idea of removing even one article of clothing around me is exhilarating and you can't give in to that because you won't be able to keep your hands off of me?"

  She twists her lips, "Now you're reaching."

  "Okay then, if you're not worried you're going to want to push me on the bed and have your wicked way with me, what's the problem?"

  I place the camera in her hand and push her towards the mirror. "Go. I'll be over here with my headphones in and my hands up to my elbows in clay."

  She could be completely naked or just have one shoe off. Either way, I force myself to honor my word and not turn around to look until she puts the camera on the table in front of me. I unplug my ears. "All set?"

  She's fidgeting. "I couldn't do it."

  "Jord-,"

  "It's awkward taking a picture of myself in a mirror, I'm seeing everything magnified in the lens. Every freckle, every faded scar, I'm too critical of myself."

  Shit, she really does need help, if she can't even look at herself. I pick up the camera, dragging a stool over by the lamp in the corner. "Okay, I’ll take the pictures. We'll go slow. Which body part would you like to focus on today?"

  "Maybe I shouldn't."

  "You totally should. You want to pass this class. You need to pass this class, and more than that, if you're so caught up worrying about your grade and trying to pass, you won't have time to work on your submission for the symposium. Jordy, you can't play it safe. I can help you. Just pretend you’re somewhere else. Someone else."

  She closes her eyes and unbuttons her shirt at the neck. I snap. Another button, another click. Until her right shoulder is exposed. She rearranges the collar on the other side, uncovering the second shoulder. The size and cut of her shirt makes it impossible to reveal anything more without removing it entirely.

  "Do you wanna stop here?"

  "I don't know."

  "Maybe I can capture your back?" I retrieve a sheet off the bed and hold it up to her. Turning to give her a moment to wrap it around her.

  "Okay, I'm ready."

  I grip my camera hard enough to crack the frame. Jordanna cuts those cat eyes at me and I'm suddenly struck by how much gold resides in her irises and how perfect her nose, and cheekbones are. Damn, was her mouth this pouty before? How did I not notice? The sheet's draped over her arms and held together just under her sternum, exposing both shoulders and the swell of her breasts.

  I snap pictures in quick succession and hand her the SD card, so she can print out the ones she wants on my computer. While she's doing that, I go back to pretending like it's no big deal that she was naked under my sheet from the waist up.

  I zone back out, getting lost in the feel of the clay as I work on my sculpture. It's hours later when I notice my phone flashing with a missed call from Tabitha.

  I dial her back. "Tabby, hey." I listen as she tells me I missed dinner and drinks with the crew. "I lost track of time. Yeah, at the studio." I quickly decline her offer to bring me food. Tabitha and now Jordy are the only women I've ever had here. I end the call with a promise to show up for breakfast.

  I wave my phone at Jordanna. "Guess I lost track of time."

  She chews on her lip, nodding as she picks up her device. "Me, too. I have a missed call from my mom, my sister, and…"

  It hangs in the air and the mortification sets in. The boyfriend. "Jordy…" I try to stave off the freakout I sense is about to happen. "Jordy."

  "No, no, no, what was I thinking? I can't believe I just let you take pictures of me." She mutters almost as an afterthought, "and kiss me during that stupid game."

  "The pictures are tame. We covered up all your naughty parts. If your boyfriend is going to freak out because I got a couple of pictures of your shoulder and upper back, then you should really reevaluate
if he's the one you wanna spend the rest of your life sleeping with. Or is sex never going to happen with the two of you?"

  It's a low blow, but enough to snap her out of whatever meltdown she was about to have.

  "What?"

  "I'm just saying. With the exception of a few things left on for variety, spice, or because you just don't have time to take everything off, like when someone takes you up against a wall, for a quick and fast, fuck; clothes have to come off. If your boyfriend's such a puritan that shoulders and elbows are sinful, you're looking at a boring ass time in bed."

  "Fuck you." She spats.

  "Tell me Jordanna, how am I supposed to react to that? Is it a sincere offer, or is it just a carrot you're dangling, because it's what you do to men who want you."

  "I thought you brought me here to help me. Was it a lie? Some kind of ploy to try to get me in bed? How many more pictures or pieces of clothing was I supposed to take off before that happened? Or did you stop because once I got under the glaring lights, you discovered I'm so hideous it wasn't worth your time?"

  "I am helping you." I turn my back to her, dropping my chisel in the toolbox with more force than necessary. How the hell does she think she's hideous. Toga Jordy is hot as fuck. Like Vesta, the virgin goddess who captured the attention of Apollo and Neptune.

  I swallow my anger and desire turning to face her. "This wasn’t a failed seduction attempt, Jordanna. I didn't try to kiss or touch you. All I wanted was to help you get over this fear you have of looking at the nude body. I would never push you to do anything that you were uncomfortable with, and if you didn't want me to take those pictures, you shouldn't have given me the goddamn camera."

  I grab my wallet and keys off the table. "The doors will lock behind you automatically. Stay as long as you need to." I pause when I reach the door. "For what it's worth, hideous is never how you should refer to yourself. Even with all your fucking clothes on, I can tell you're breathtakingly beautiful and I would go days without food or sleep trying to capture a fraction of your beauty in clay."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Logan's words haunted me. I couldn't even finish what I was working on, so I printed a few photos before deleting the pictures on his SD card and computer and took my canvas and photos with me, leaving shortly after he did. On the elevator ride down to the lobby, I was cursing him out in my head for leaving me stranded, but when I stepped onto the pavement, the driver of a town car got out and opened the door, explaining Mr. McKay, instructed him to wait for me.

  When I asked how long was he supposed to be out there, he said, however long it took for me to emerge from the building. Because of things like that, it's hard for me to place him firmly in asshole category. We had a fight, and he left, but he still sent a car for me. I wish he'd stick to one personality trait. It would make it easier to continue justifying my dislike for him.

  I'm staring at the photo I'm supposed to be drawing. It captures my face, shoulder and just the slight curve of the top of my breast. The shadows and light give my skin a bronze glow. He called me beautiful in a way that inspires him to sculpt. I frown at the photograph, trying to see what he saw.

  I put my brush down and head to class. My heart sinks a little when I see he's not in our economics class, and sit through the lecture, wondering if his absence has something to do with our fight. No, that's impossible. The leader of the beautiful people wouldn't ditch because he's avoiding me.

  He's absent from art too. I'm heading to the library after my last class and see his friends get into their cars and leave campus. Wherever this weekends fun is happening, won't be around here. That's good, because I could use a break from the after hours hookups Kassidy brings back to the dorms. Even with separate bedrooms, I can hear her when the fun gets out of control or doesn't make it further than the shared living room.

  Plus, it gives me time to work ahead in my classes. I'm going to Carryville to see Robbie next weekend. Things were tense between us when he left. Hopefully, being back on familiar turf will help us reconnect. I miss him and how simple things used to be. A long distance relationship is harder than I thought it would be.

  It's Tuesday, and I'm waiting for Logan outside of class so I can talk to him about our project. I'm betting it's a long shot that he worked on it wherever he was over the weekend. The chatter in the hall intensifies and quiets in a ripple effect. I spy the loyal subjects waiting against the walls as the royal court makes its entrance. Logan's in the middle of a crowd, like always, and it looks like he's made a new friend. I recognize Cecile from English Lit. Her arm is wrapped so tightly around his, it reminds me of a creeping vine. She's chattering about how much fun she had and that she can't wait to do it again. I ignore the look Bella gives me when she walks by. If she's not onboard with me talking to Logan, she needs to take it up with the teacher.

  "Hi." Is about as clever as I get with Cecile and Logan staring at me the way they are. She glares at me and her hand tightens on his arm in a possessive chokehold.

  His look is less emotional. Indifferent to my presence. It's fine. It was his idea to forge a friendship, not mine, and I'm happy to go back to the way things used to be. I just need him to do his part of the damn assignment. "I wanted to talk to you about our project, and see if we can set up a time to compare notes, on how we're progressing."

  "You wanna have a strategy session in the hall minutes before class is about to start?"

  "Yes. You know, in case the professor asks for a status update." He’s looking at me like that would never happen. "I would've done it this weekend, but you weren't around."

  "Keeping tabs on me, Jordy?"

  "The pop-up party text on Prospectus and your friends peeling out the parking lot on Friday, kinda gave it away."

  "Well, I'll probably be around this weekend. We can go over it then."

  "But I…"

  The teacher walks by swirling his finger in the air, and I follow behind them to my seat. This weekend won't work and I'll tell him as soon as class is over. Logan's out of his seat before I'm done packing my bag, and wherever he's spending his free time must be cloaked by some kind of magic spell, because I don't see him or his friends on campus again before the next class.

  He’s ducking me. There's no other explanation for it. Once again, he bolted from the classroom, knowing I wanted to talk to him about our research paper. I'm fuming that he's messing around with my grade, and startle when I see him in his seat in our life study class, since he skipped the last two. He never does the work Noel assigns, so I assumed he finally dropped the class.

  It's clear he's avoiding me. Maybe the line about my beauty was a line after all. Or he found a better subject to admire. Cecile certainly looked like she spent the weekend being muse worthy.

  I should gauge my brain out, because I surely don't understand the fucking stab of envy I feel. I don't want to be his muse, but I do want to pass this research project. Sure I could do it on my own, but do I want the drama that's going to come with cutting him out of the work credit? There’s no doubt in my mind that his friends would see it as a personal attack and find a way to retaliate.

  Easing into my seat, I rehash what I want to say. During my carefully crafted speech, I’ll refrain from accusations and keep my hands still so that I don't come across as forceful or bitchy. "So, I wanted to talk about our project."

  "I already told you we can work on it this weekend."

  "That's just it. This weekend won't work for me."

  His hand pauses mid stroke. "What do you mean it won't work for you? Is this some type of payback? I wasn't available last weekend, so you're not free this weekend?"

  "Who has times for those types of games?" I remember who I'm talking to, he's probably surrounded by women playing those type of games. Well, I'm not one of them. I calm my voice and explain. "I'm going to the Fairview. It's been planned since the summer."

  “Fairview, CT?” His brows flick down. "That's where the boyfriend is. So getting laid is more important th
an our grade?"

  "Logan-"

  "Alright, alright. I know. It's none of my business and I can understand your first time can't be rescheduled."

  I ignore the invasive part of this conversation. At first I wondered how he knew I'm a virgin, and then I remember that damn magazine spread last year. Waiting is okay. Abstinence in the social media age. "So do you have time today or tomorrow?"

  "I've got some work to do in my studio."

  "Well, maybe if I had your email or number, we could text and share the documents while I'm on the bus on Friday."

  "You're catching a bus to Carryville?”

  "Yeah, how else would I get there?"

  My car got reacquired along with anything else that could be considered an asset. Mom's too. But she got one financed before the news broke and the ding to her credit hit. We nickel and dime everything to save money. That's another reason I'm here on scholarship.

  "Lover boy won't at least spring for a train ticket?"

  "Email or what Logan?"

  "Yeah, sure." He pulls my phone out of my smock. "You know there were easier ways to get my number."

  Telling him this wasn't a scheme to get his phone number falls on deaf ears.

  We email and text during my bus ride, and I'm relieved to see that he's actually put in a decent effort on his own. I'll be able to enjoy this weekend without this paper hanging over my head. Last night, on a whim, I changed my ticket and I'm on the early morning bus heading east. Robbie has a break from noon to three, and I'm hoping I can convince him to get a jump on the weekend.

  The moment I step onto campus, I feel more like myself. This is where I'm supposed to be. This is my school. I've gotta ace this art class because the scholarship and internship I'm applying for needs updated material from my portfolio and I have to show growth and an edge. Tackling naked bodies means my portfolio will have more than birds, buildings and bowls of fruit.

  I wave to a couple of people I know as I climb the steps to the dorms. The girl at the front desk is new, but the RA leaning against the counter isn't.