“This is how futures are decided, Kresley,” my mother chides accordingly, and I turn off to the side, rolling my eyes.
“There’s nothing going on like that between Tristan and me. I’ve told you that already; this meeting doesn’t make any sense,” I argue even though I don’t want to irritate my father. I need her to understand that this brunch isn’t going anywhere now nor in the future.
“Nonsense,” she huffs and bulldozes on. “His father wouldn’t have requested brunch if there wasn’t an impending engagement to be discussed.”
Her disclosure has my hand flying to my chest, my mouth dropping open as I gasp in outrage. My heart suddenly feels as if there’s a wild horse stomping through my chest. This isn’t a part of my plan; it was never even a consideration. Sure, we’re wealthy, but I never once believed we were on the level of discussing premature marriage options. I’m supposed to get a scholarship and move far away from here, all on my own. I’m so close to being out of my parents’ house and away from their unhealthy lifestyle. This can’t be happening to me right now.
My father speaks for the first time since we’ve left, his voice commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Axel de Lacharriere is Tristan’s grandfather. He’s the second wealthiest man in France, the thirteenth richest man in America and you want to rebuff any potential future that’s linked with their family? Are you completely stupid, Kresley? You’ll be a good girl, and if anyone in that family so much as whispers their interest in your direction, you’ll roll over and oblige immediately. You will not embarrass me or else I’ll make sure you never have a happy moment for the rest of your life, little girl. If that boy has a ring, you slide that rock on your finger immediately and smile like it’s the best fucking thing in the entire world, because it is.”
Tears attempt to fight their way to my eyes, but I choke the sob back. Meeting my father’s hateful stare in the rearview mirror, I nod and whisper, “Yes, sir.” I know I have nothing to worry about; Tristan wouldn’t be serious about dating me, let alone marrying me. The tears are because when my father discovers that my mother has put this false hope into his head, it’ll be hell to pay at home. My mother may catch some of his anger, but I’ll be the one shouldering the load because he’ll blame me for screwing up somehow. He’s precisely the reason why I don’t have foolish wishes clouding my head in the first place. My life is a cold dose of reality when it concerns him, and regardless of what he may believe, I’m not stupid. I’m working my tail off on my grades, so I never have to rely on him again. I want as far from Harvard Academy and this town as possible.
We unload right in front of the main entryway doors, and the valet takes the keys from my father to park the Range Rover. My dad typically drives a sporty car, but he likes to drive my mom’s family vehicle when we go out like this. He has this ridiculous belief that it makes him appear more like a doting father and husband. There’s not an ounce of blood in him that screams family man; I know that for a fact. I find myself often wondering why he doesn’t just shove us all into his tiny McLaren since being rich seems to be more important than any of us. I’m sure I come off as bitter to some, but I promise that’s not the case. I’m grateful for his money taking up most of his time. I’m just not happy with how it’s made him into such a rotten human being.
The thick, oversized glass doors to the luxurious club are opened for us, and my father’s greeted by name from the host. It’s their job to memorize every card holder, but my father spends enough time here I’m sure they’re actually familiar with him.
“The de Lacharrieres are waiting for you, sir.” The host gestures toward the posh dining area, and my muscles tighten. Tristan wasn’t lying after all; someone with their last name is indeed waiting for us. My gut churns that this is a disaster waiting to happen, but it’s like a train wreck, and I’m tied to the tracks. I can’t escape no matter how I may attempt to struggle out of my bonds.
We approach the back corner that’s considered to be a coveted private seating placement, and five tall males stand to greet us. A petite, young blonde woman who looks close to my age scrambles to her feet at the last moment, standing next to Mr. de Lacharriere. There’s no mistaken who he is. The boys look like perfect younger replicas of him. Their father clearly has dominant genes to not only have one son but four of them. Then to add in the fact that the resemblance is uncanny, there’s four spitting images of the powerful man himself.
The host introduces our fathers before scurrying away to be seen and not heard. The older men shake hands, then acknowledge their significant others before the attention is turned in my direction.
Tristan’s father has me blushing as he peppers a fake kiss on each of my cheeks and clasps my hand between his large, warm palms. He’s handsome, smells nice and reminds me of all four boys wrapped into one—he’s a dangerous combination. “You must be the young lady my son won’t stop talking about. I can see why now… You are absolutely stunning, my dear.” He doesn’t look at me like a father should; his gaze takes me in more like a potential conquest.
I swallow and offer up a too wide smile that I’m sure comes off more as a toothy grimace. I’m flattered, really. He seems quite charming. I’m just worried that if I screw this up or there isn’t a ring involved that the rest of my life will completely suck. I didn’t begin this week wanting or even considering marriage, but suddenly it seems like the only thing I can think of, the only thing to save me from my family. I don’t want to be married, but my father does, and in this life, that’s all that really matters. I’m a pawn to be traded as needed in grown men’s games.
“Thank you, sir.” I manage to stick to my ingrained manners and mumble.
Tristan rounds the table, the bold move seemingly like a premeditated production of sorts. He shake’s my father’s hand first, and then presses a light kiss to my mother’s knuckles. Lastly, he stops in front of me. “My love,” he proclaims, and I grit my teeth. This whole charade is lies, and I can’t stand it. I keep my mouth shut, offering him a fake, closed-mouth smile. “You look as beautiful as always.”
There’s a flash from the side window, and I instantly recognize that this is a publicity setup. These people have so much nerve and glancing in my father’s direction, I catch the wide smile on his lips. He loves this so far. In fact, he’d probably parade me outdoors so they could get a better angle on this entire ridiculous situation.
“Thank you, Tristan.” I choke out the tight, robotic reply. At this point, I’m going on etiquette alone and repeating thank you for practically everything.
He holds both of my hands in his palms, his gaze twinkling with some sort of plot I’m sure I won’t want to take part in.
Tristan’s father interrupts us further. “Shall we toast?” Everyone’s still standing up around the table, and it feels so awkward and completely staged to me. “We have much to be excited for,” the older man boasts, and I try to tug my hands away. Tristan won’t allow it though, clamping his hold tighter.
He speaks up, almost as if this entire morning has been rehearsed already. It has me on edge. I don’t like this; it all feels so planned and fake. “Father, excuse me, but with your blessing, I’d like to make an announcement...or shall I say, ask a question.”
Mr. de Lacharriere beams at his son, the devious asshole standing before me. “Of course, Tristan. Let’s turn this into a celebration.”
It’s the only encouragement he needs, and Tristan drops to one knee beside the table. The dining room’s silent as all of the surrounding guests have quieted, their nosiness getting the best of them. Usually, you at least pretend to talk while you eavesdrop, but not for this apparently.
I think I’m going to puke. Like literally upchuck all over this gorgeous boy’s clothes and shoes. That’d be my luck.
Tristan releases one hand, keeping a tight grip on the other as he fishes out a small ivory box from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Using his thumb, he pops the top open, a massive diamond glinting
at me in the process. He flashes his perfectly straight, bright white teeth in what some would say is a nervous smile. It’s not. I can read him like an open book. This is one big script for him. The worst part of all is that I can do absolutely nothing about any of it but simply accept and agree. “Forgive me for not planning something more special, I just can’t wait a moment longer,” he continues, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “You’ve caught me completely off guard, a whirlwind of love enveloping me when I wasn’t expecting it. No one could shy from your beauty or that brilliant mind, and you’ve fully ensnared me from all others. Kresley, my love, please do me the honor and allow me to take care of you. Your future will have no limits by my side; you’ll make me the happiest man alive. Please, please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
I still feel like I want to vomit. My stomach rolls with what he’s just done. I’ve known him two weeks, and that’s pushing it. Sharing one biology class with someone is hardly considered as knowing them. I suppose I should be thankful; in this rich world, many never meet each other until these things have already been decided. If I’m honest with myself, I’m feeling a bit betrayed that Axel hasn’t said anything about this. We’ve seen each other every day this past week, and he never mentioned or even hinted that Tristan was serious about meeting up this weekend and what I should be expecting.
I swallow down the bile threatening to spew everywhere and jerk a disappointed nod in response. A tear falls, but Tristan holds me tightly, not allowing me to wipe it away. I’m sure it fits perfectly, him on his knees with some ridiculous speech while I stand here tearing up. They aren’t happy tears, more like the final seal on my coffin. My life is no longer mine, but then I guess it never was, to begin with. I was the fool to have believed differently.
He slips on the massive diamond before getting to his feet. Leaning in, he whispers mockingly, “You belong to the de Lacharrieres now. Told you that you’d be mine.”
My head feels fuzzy as his fingers grab my chin roughly and his lips press to mine, then everything goes completely black.
M
y mother was more than happy to proclaim that my passing out was due to an overabundance of excitement. There wasn’t an ounce of truth to it, though I never once attempted to correct her. I wouldn’t dare to ever bring it up. My father had commanded me to be the impeccable, willing victim, after all, and I wasn’t about to give him any reason to extend his fury on our family further. The less ammunition he has against us, the better.
The entire situation felt like one colossal sham of a production. I wanted no involvement whatsoever of the engagement or that flashy family full of testosterone-filled good-looking men. I tried like hell to hide the ostentatious ring upstairs, but my mother wasn’t having it. There’s no way I wanted to wear it to school and allow everyone to see what’d happened over the weekend. It’s bad enough that it’ll probably show up in a paper somewhere.
Now, here I am, headed to lunch wearing an enormous diamond ring on my finger that’s so big I may as well have gotten my forehead tattooed. The quads have left me on my own so far today, and every time I’ve made eye contact with Brandon, my heart aches. My best guy friend stares at me with a resounding sadness as if I just slit my throat and told him he’ll never be able to love another. I’m not in love with him in the slightest, but I do care for him. He’s been a good friend to me nearly my entire life. I know he loves me more than I deserve, and his pain from my unofficial engagement is unfair. I don’t want him to hurt or be sad on account of me or anyone else.
I don’t want to marry Tristan, but I’d never admit that, even to Brandon. I couldn’t handle giving him any false hope only to snatch it away the day my last name becomes de Lacharriere. I’m not stupid; I know it’ll happen eventually. The diamond glinting on my finger cements it in stone.
Entering the lunchroom, I casually stride toward my usual table to sit and place my order when my wrist is snatched. It catches me off guard, and I nearly stumble. The secure grip holds firm, and I follow the offending limb to none other than my betrothed. Taking a breath, I silently pray for patience, so I don’t mess this up and attract Father’s anger.
“This is your new seat,” Tristan proclaims, nodding to the chair next to his. He’s in his neatly pressed academy shirt sans blazer. The Harvard Academy signature coat is folded neatly over the chair across from him. Of course, he’d take up extra seats for his personal items; he seems to have no awareness for others around him other than his three brothers. If this is any indication to how our future will be, I know I’ll be miserable—maybe not as much as living at home, but miserable all the same.
Jerking my wrist free, I flash a sarcastic smile. “I have a seat already, right over there with my friends.” I point to the table where Sam and Brandon sit with their heads together in a hushed, in-depth conversation that I’d bet money on is about me and my newly acquired accessory. “That’s been my place for the past few years and will be for the remainder of this one.”
His handsome face twists with a scoff. “This is the de Lacharriere table,” he states. “You’ll sit next to your future husband or else I’ll make sure your friend is kicked off the team,” he threatens and a war wages inside my chest.
Both of my best friends will be miffed that I’m not sitting with them. It’ll be me making a silent statement to the room that I’m not comfortable with making. On the flip side, I know how much Brandon absolutely loves playing football and needs it in his life. Anyone can see how talented he truly is when he’s on the field, and it would be devastating to him if he were kicked off. I couldn’t live with myself if he loses his first love on account of me.
My conflicted stare meets Tristan’s victorious gleam as he stands. Snatching my hand back into his much bigger grip, he brings my hand to his mouth. He presses a kiss to the knuckle above my shiny new engagement ring. Every single person is paying attention to us—their eyes glued to the scene before them. It doesn’t take a genius to know exactly what he’s doing. Tristan just announced our status to the entire academy without saying a word aloud.
After a beat, Tristan uses his free hand to pull the seat he’d indicated outward. He directs my hand downward, making me follow suit and sit where he wants me to. It’s been one day, yet he’s already moving me around like his personal puppet. I don’t know whether to be frightened or not. While my father is physically abusive, Tristan is manipulative in his own sense.
I’m positively steaming inside, anger rolling through me. It’s times like this that the pavement calls to me. I need to run these emotions out before I do something rash. I’d gotten up early today and ran a few miles, but I need it again and right now. Swallowing, I straighten myself in my seat, the server coming to my side immediately. They’ve always been good, but never quite this quick. Another perk of being filthy rich, I suppose—you get waited on hand and foot, or else people lose their jobs with a snap of your fingers.
Assholes, I think to myself but thankfully manage to keep the comment silent.
Ordering my usual, the baked chicken and rice pilaf, I wait for someone to interrupt and tell me what I’m now allowed to eat as well. Surprisingly, that didn’t happen, and I’m able to have what I want.
A glower shutters over my face as I scan each boy sitting around the table. They’re comfortable, looking like they own the place. Even Axel feels the depth of my fury as I stare him down. I was foolish enough to previously believe he was a potential friend and ally.
Cole smirks, mouthing “beba” when my glare lands on him. I can’t believe I thought that Cajun boy accent was hot when I first stumbled upon him standing under the tree watching me stretch. He may be gone all the time, but he’s clearly in on this with his brothers. I highly doubt any of them do anything without each of them being fully aware of what’s going down. They’re far too devious for my liking, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with the lot of them.
Brent ignores me, though I’ve grown used t
o it. He always acts like I don’t exist, so I try to return the favor. I still don’t understand why we have to sit here like one big fake happy family when last week they didn’t seem to have a problem sitting with me at my usual table. It’s like they met me and then decided one day that they’d make my life hell from now on.
Not being able to hold myself back any longer from remarking, I hiss, “Holding court, are we? A little pompous, don’t you think?” I’m rich too, but the way they sit with their noses in the air, you can feel the wealth pouring from them. It’s not classy in the slightest.
Cole chuckles, flashing an amused glance at Tristan, “Mm-mm, mon beba has claws, no?”
Axel mutters, “She’ll need them to be one of us.”
My drink is set in front of me, and I quickly thank the server before gulping some of the water down. Tristan smiles, but I see right through the insincerity of it. “Maybe we are holding court. So what, we’re at the top of the food chain. Look around sugar plum, everyone knows their place.”
My angry stare scans across the room, and everyone randomly peeks over at our table, longing in their gaze. “My family has less money than half of these people,” I point out. “I’m in the middle, so clearly I don’t belong here either. I could leave if you’d be more comfortable around your own kind.”
Tristan leans in close, his warm breath hitting my lobe, making me flush with goosebumps. The damn things easily tattle on my reaction to him when that’s the last thing I want him or anyone else to be aware of. “As long as that expensive rock is weighing down your finger, you’ll be better than all of them. In fact, your future last name alone makes you better than them all combined, fiancée.”
Harvard Academy Elite Page 6