by Alley Ciz
“What is?”
“That in a town founded by those with names like King, Prince, and Castle, you”—she pokes a finger to the center of my chest—“will never fit in.”
She pushes harder, digging in hard enough for the gray of her nail polish to disappear into the white fabric of my shirt. My skin burns beneath her touch.
“But since you seem so concerned about the things I’m used to, and I’m feeling generous…I’ll take the time to educate you a bit. Your name may sound royal, but you’ll never be a nobleman…or Royalty.”
She pauses as if waiting to see how I’ll react to the mention of the well-known crew in town. I stiffen at the way her tempting lips curl at the corners. I don’t know what the fuck she thinks she reads in me, but that added spark of confidence is begging to be snuffed out.
“What you seem to not understand is that the reason the Royalty Crew has power at BP—and in Blackwell in general—is because they are respected more than they are feared.”
That breath she told me not to hold stills in my lungs as she reaches up to cup my cheek.
“You may have some power inside these halls at BA, but you’ll never have it anywhere else…you’ll never have that kind of respect.” She taps my cheek in two quick slaps. “Because with your tactics, all you’ll ever be is an ordinary bully.”
I’m not sure if it’s her words or the sudden way she shoves against my chest, but I stumble back, allowing her enough space to slip free.
Ordinary? Who the fuck is she calling ordinary? Where the hell does she get off insulting me? I’m Jasper fucking Noble. She’s just some girl whose mom happened to marry a hotel magnate.
“I’ll make you regret saying that, Princess,” I warn as she frees Tinsley from a slack-jawed Midas.
“I dare you to try.” She tosses the words over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around.
CHAPTER 6
“Samantha,” Natalie calls out the second I step inside the penthouse, and I’m beyond tempted to turn right back around and walk out.
After spending eight hours at school on edge, worried I gave my identity away somehow by bringing up Carter, I don’t have the energy to deal with Momster drama. Thankfully, Jasper and his fellow douchemonkeys are too self-absorbed to see past their You will bow down to me mentality and view me as more than a transfer student from BP.
“Samantha!” I smirk at the haughty, put-out tone Natalie’s voice takes on due to me ignoring her first greeting.
I follow the long hallway, past the massive kitchen island and into the living room, taking one last deep breath before stepping inside.
Dressed in the latest couture, one long leg crossed over the other at the knee, foot encased in a shoe-porn-perfection strappy Louboutin, the red sole winking at me with every bounce of her foot, Waterford Crystal martini glass balanced on the tips of her French manicured fingers, Natalie St. James is perched on an oversized velvet emerald armchair like it’s her throne.
It’s the beginning of September and seventy-five degrees outside, but that doesn’t stop her from having the fireplace that takes up most of the wall behind her lit. Natalie is nothing if not dramatic. I swear she thinks our life is an actual telenovela.
“Mother,” I greet when the flash of royal blue in my peripheral alerts me to Mitchell’s presence as he too enters the room. He’s the only reason I’ll play nice…for now.
“How was school?” It sucked, I think, but I answer Mitchell’s question with a shrug and an “It was fine.”
Mitchell gives a That’s good head nod as he moves to take the seat on the couch closest to my mother while her scarlet-painted mouth twists down into a frown.
“That’s it? I would think after not coming home until late yesterday, you would have so much to say.”
Ah, yes. Mother dearest did not like how I was able to spend most of the afternoon with my brother and avoided seeing her entirely. Sure, I spent more time with Tessa than Carter, having tagged along to her cheer practice, but she looks down on his “influence” over me. Guess she should have thought about that before she left him to raise me while she chased the next step in her social hierarchy.
I don’t bother to dignify her passive aggressiveness with a response. I learned years ago it’s best for my sanity to let it go and not engage. Instead, I pop a shoulder and continue toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom until an “Oh, Samantha” from Natalie brings me up short.
“Yes,” I answer, eyeing her warily.
The smug I won the game you didn’t even know we were playing grin that spreads across her perfectly made-up and contoured face sets my teeth on edge. I don’t trust it…not one bit.
“I laid out a dress, as well as appropriate heels, for you to wear this evening.”
Say what now?
That grin grows into a full-blown smile at the confusion clearly visible on my face.
“Dinner is at seven. Do make sure you’re ready on time, dear.”
Dear? Did she really just call me dear? And dinner? What the fuck is she talking about?
“If you had come home like you were supposed to yesterday, you would be aware of our plans for the evening,” she states, answering my unasked question.
I close my eyes, using a long blink to compose myself before meeting her icy blue gaze. I will not let her trigger me. “I’m sorry our signals got crossed yesterday.” I’m not, but I can pretend for appearance’s sake. “It was my mistake for assuming you were aware I would still spend most of my afternoons with Tessa.” Lies. All lies. “You know she helps push me to stay on top of things academically.” Or you would if you actually took an interest in my life. I don’t voice that last tidbit.
“Have you been assigned a lot of work already?” Mitchell asks, and unlike with my incubator, I get the impression he would actually like to know the answer.
“Nothing too terrible. But Tessa…” I hold my hand out, palm facing the ceiling as I wait for his acknowledgment that he remembers meeting my best friend. At his nod, I continue. “She’ll be valedictorian, and with all her AP classes, she always has work to do. I’ve grown used to the strict study schedule she keeps.”
“That’s good.” He swirls the amber liquid in a highball glass. “BA has rigorous academic standards. Establishing a system is important if you wish to not only meet but exceed them.”
Yet another reason I shouldn’t be at BA. I’m an average B student at best. I was more than fine at BP. If anyone would fit in at my new school, it would be smarty-pants Tess.
That’s not the point. Right now, I need to stress the fact that I have plans, and they do not include whatever dinner it is Natalie has planned.
The kickoff for the BP football game is at seven. Natalie laughs, but to me, it sounds more like a cackle when I inform her of this detail.
“Oh, sweetie.” She waves her free hand like I’m being ridiculous. First dear, now sweetie? Did I step into The Twilight Zone instead of the penthouse when I got off the elevator? “You shouldn’t bother with Blackwell Public social events anymore. It’s beneath you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. What in the damn hell?
“Listen, Mother.” I move in closer, clasping my hands and letting them hang loose in front of me, concentrating on keeping my breathing steady and my blood pressure down. With great painful effort, I keep my voice even and calm, doing my damnedest not to sound patronizing when that’s all I ache to do. “You wanted to enroll me at Blackwell Academy, and I didn’t fight you on it”—much—“but this is my senior year. Just because I go to a new school doesn’t mean my plans…my routine is going to change.”
“Ah, yes, you do love going to your little football games. How could I forget? But, darling”—oh my god, someone gag me over here, please—“don’t you think you should be going to the Blackwell Academy game instead?” Fat chance. “It’ll be so much easier for you to make friends if you start socializing with your new classmates. Get to know the peers who are your equals.”
For
get The Twilight Zone; I think I’ve straight-up gone back in time with this classist bullshit she’s spewing. My equals? I need a drink. I wonder how she would react if I took her martini and threw it back.
“I have more than enough friends, thank you very much.” Ones who aren’t people I’ve grown up thinking were my rivals.
Natalie bristles, the silk ruffle along the plunging neckline of her dress moving with what I would bet good money is her body vibrating with repressed anger.
I don’t need her to voice it to know what she’s thinking. How dare I challenge her? She’s Natalie King. She’s my mother. Too bad it’s the first detail that holds more weight in this scenario. It’s wrong, but it’s a fact of life at this point.
“I just worry, sweetheart.” It takes everything in me not to clap for her continued performance as a caring parent. My interactions with Mitchell have been limited, but I’ve always gotten a genuine vibe from him during them. He’s pretty much the antithesis of Natalie. Guess that’s why she plays this new role she’s created for herself.
“I’m fine…Mom.” Swallowing down the sarcasm on that word almost chokes me.
“You always are, baby.” Okay, I really think I’m going to throw up. “I just really wanted you to attend this dinner so we can help introduce you to some of your new peers and ease your transition to BA.”
I ask her who she has in mind, if only so I’ll know who I should steer clear of. If they have the Natalie stamp of approval, I want to avoid them like the plague.
It’s confirmed that my instincts are spot on when she lists Miss Queen B and the annoying assholes who won’t leave me alone.
“How about a compromise?” Again Mitchell is the voice of reason without even being aware of the true dynamic between me and the woman who bore me.
I shift from one foot to the next. “What did you have in mind?”
He leans forward, placing his glass on a decorative coaster then curling a hand over Natalie’s knee, his thumb moving across the joint. “You go to the football game tonight, and in the future, if there’s an event we would like you to join us at, we’ll give you at least two days’ notice. Would that work?” He glances at his wife than at me.
It’s subtle, but I can see the way Natalie grinds her jaw, not at all happy she’s about to “lose” this battle. I wait for her to nod before I give my agreement.
“That’s a wonderful idea, honey.” Natalie covers Mitchell’s hand that’s still on her knee, and I give in to the urge to roll my eyes at her continued use of pet names. Who is this woman? “Besides—”
Ice slides down my spine at the triumphant smile that slithers across her face as she brings the full weight of her attention to me.
“—there should be plenty of opportunities for us all to connect.” I’m not sure what that means, but I’ll be damn sure to do everything in my power to avoid any and all situations that include Jasper Noble. “Tomorrow, the two of us can sync up our calendars.”
Why does that sound more like a threat than a plan?
CHAPTER 7
TGIF is real, people. I seriously have never been more excited to see a Friday in my entire life.
All week I’ve been dealing with lame-ass hazing—people stepping on the backs of my shoe to give “flat tires”, lube on the handle of my locker, cornering me in the bathroom to “remind me of my place”—because I refuse to fall in line. Really…it’s laughable. If they want to get to me, they’re going to have to step up their game.
Plus, passing the recently pruned shrubs that bracket the entrance gates has made arriving at this school all the more enjoyable. What once read BA now is trimmed to boast BP.
The most tiring thing about the last seven days has been trying to mollify Natalie and her desperate need to prove we are the “perfect family”. I haven’t spent any time away from the penthouse—outside of school—since the BP football game last Friday.
I can’t continue to go on this way. I need to find some sort of middle ground. I’ve broached the subject with Mitchell—he’s the far more reasonable of the two—so my fingers are crossed I shouldn’t have an issue this weekend. He was the one to suggest we compromise about my social calendar.
Tinsley and I step outside the gilded doors of this over-the-top academy, and as always, the elite of the school are loitering about. Some lean against their luxury vehicles, others on the steps, all of them with a sense of entitlement I want to knock off their faces—with my fist.
I don’t know if everyone at BP knowing who I ran with kept most guys respectful, or if the boys—I refuse to call them men because they don’t act like it—at BA have more money than sense. Whatever it is, the shit I’ve put up with here is getting old. If they don’t stop trying to touch me without my permission, someone is liable to lose a hand.
There’s a buzz in the parking lot that hasn’t been here before, but for once, their attention doesn’t seem to be solely focused on me, so I let it go.
Then I spot him.
Even with the black helmet covering his face, I’d recognize that cocky lean anywhere, not to mention the sick Kawasaki Ninja he’s leaning against.
Wes.
In two seconds flat, I double-step, my Chucks slapping against the stone, ignoring all the students checking out the badass with the motorcycle, and launch myself at him.
He catches me automatically, his hands cupping my ass, my legs wrapping around his waist, and my arms sliding around his neck. I place a kiss on the visor, right over where his mouth is.
“Ma reine.” His voice is muffled behind his helmet as he lowers me to the ground, and I let my body slide along each bump and ridge of his muscles. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and the first genuine smile I’ve felt in far too long spreads across my face at the simple joy of teasing him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask once my feet are back on solid ground, the murmuring around us increasing in volume.
It’s not that I’m not happy to see him—I’m ecstatic—but other than myself, Royalty doesn’t step foot on BA grounds…ever. Sure, unless they know his bike, not many people would recognize Wes for who he is with the visor down, but this is unexpected.
“I’ve come to collect you for the weekend.”
“The weekend?” My voice squeaks at the end from the pure, unadulterated excitement that possibility brings with it.
“Oh yeah.” Even without seeing it, I know he’s smirking at me. “Carter already cleared it with the Momster.”
It’s more likely he means Mitchell, but I don’t really care. A whole weekend where I truly belong…nothing sounds better than that. Plus, it can only mean one thing—racing.
“Gotta say, Savs”—his hand goes to my hip, pulling me back against him, taking extra touchy-feely liberties without my brother around—“this is a good look on you.”
Simple joy bubbles through my bloodstream. My favorite pastime is flirting with Wes, and when he’s a willing participant in it, it’s even more fun.
“Does it fulfill those schoolgirl fantasies you were talking about?” I arch a brow, daring him to make a move.
Like his smirk, his dark eyes are hidden, but it doesn’t lessen the impact of them as he scans me from the top of my ponytail down to the tips of my Chucks.
“Oh yeah,” he answers, dragging out the syllables.
Lust slams into me, and I’m instantly wet. Wes talks a big game and loves to tease me, but outside of a few make-out sessions with a side of dry humping—thanks to the rare occasion when alcohol lowers his guard and his concern about what Carter would say is lessened—I can’t get him to go further than that. It’s annoying as hell.
He scans the school behind me, chin jerking in greeting when he spots Tinsley, and she gives a tentative wave, unsure of who he is.
A noise akin to a growl rumbles in Wes’s chest, the vibration traveling through my hand that’s placed in the center of it and up my arm as he takes in Jasper and company’s blatant staring. We’re yards away, but it
doesn’t take away from the burn Jasper’s iridescent eyes have on the back of the hand I have on Wes.
“Jesus, you weren’t kidding about this place.” The sound of Wes’s voice brings my attention back to him and off of my nemesis.
“Forget about it.” I walk my fingers up the hard, sculpted muscles stretching the black cotton of his T-shirt.
“You tempt me, ma reine”—the rough callouses on his fingers set off a round of tingles as he lifts my hand, stopping its northern trajectory—“more than you know.”
Too bad you only have balls of steel when it comes to fighting and not when it comes to giving in to your attraction to me.
“Now”—he pats the seat on the Ninja—“you going to be okay riding this in that skirt of yours?”
“You or the bike?” I press in closer, brushing the front of my body against his, hands falling to my hips and squeezing in a warning.
“Savvy.” The groaned use of my name tells me how much I’m challenging him.
I pop up onto my toes for another kiss to the visor. “Relax, Charming.” I can’t stop the smirk that forms when I use the nickname with which Tessa dubbed Mr. Prince. “I know it’ll be a while before you grow a set and round a few more bases with me.” Because, of course, Carter has a say in who I’m with. Why on earth would I get to make that decision myself?
Wes’s hands curl around me more, the tips of his long fingers slipping beneath my silk uniform shirt and dipping into the hem of my skirt. My pulse picks up speed, hoping this will be one of the times he gives in to my teasing.
“Stop holding your breath,” he cautions, and it’s only then that I feel the tightness in my lungs I work hard to avoid.
I exhale with a rush and inhale with a slight wheeze. I bet if I were able to see them, his eyes would be narrowed. He and Carter have been friends my whole life. He’s witnessed more than one hospital stay when my asthma isn’t adequately managed.
“Good girl.” This time the hitch to my breathing has nothing to do with my asthma and everything to do with the flush those two words uttered in his gravelly voice cause.