Savage Queen: A Royalty Crew U of J Spin-Off Novel (The Royalty Crew Book 1)

by Alley Ciz

  Duke loves to rag on me about how a shrink would have a field day trying to figure out the reasons why I am the way I am. Compared to most of my peers, I grew up in an idealistic environment with parents who seem to genuinely love each other and support their child’s endeavors—except the weight of that support can become overwhelmingly crushing if you try to stray from the path laid out since before you were born.

  “Yes. It’s time to stop talking shop and eat the meal I tapped into my monthly Louboutin budget for.”

  A snort draws the group’s attention to the left, the flash of silver shining under the twinkle lights alerting me to who it came from. Mom perks up at the sight of her, and I’m sure the matchmaking gene in her DNA is hard at work now that there’s an appropriately aged female in a vicinity.

  “These men…they just don’t get it, do they, dear?” Mom’s question must catch Samantha off guard if the deer-in-headlights expression on her face is any indication as Duke shifts to allow her further access to us.

  “Umm…” Those mesmerizing eyes of hers blink rapidly before falling to the red-soled high heel visible on Mom’s foot thanks to the slit of her gown. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she answers, “No, they don’t. Though I have to say”—there’s another glance down—“your taste in them is exquisite.”

  Mom beams ear to ear. Complimenting her fashion sense is the quickest way to her heart. “Why thank you, dear. Aren’t you the sweetest?” She lays a hand over her heart. “I must extend a similar compliment based on the ones I spotted you wearing earlier.” It’s no surprise she noticed Samantha’s shoes from a distance, but the color staining Samantha’s cheeks at the compliment certainly is.

  “Thank you.” Her blush only deepens as Mom gushes over them more when she lifts the hem of her gown to expose a sparkly heel.

  “Oh, I need to add those to my wish list. Beautiful shoes for a beautiful girl.” The tips of Mom’s eyelash extensions fan as she glances back at me, her slender fingers reaching out and wrapping around my wrist. “What is your name, sweetheart? And have you met my son Jasper?”

  The smile on Samantha’s face loses some of its wattage when she realizes this charming woman is connected to me. White teeth bite the corner of her lip, eyes once again locking onto mine as she works out the best way to answer. I force myself not to blink as I hold her gaze, an unfamiliar churning in my gut brewing. What the hell is with that?

  It’s like…I’m worried or some shit about her blowing up my spot. Whereas Headmaster Woodbridge is more a figurehead when it comes to authority at BA, Mom would whoop my ass if she found out the games I’ve been playing with Miss Samantha here.

  There’s a shifting of weight and a clearing of a throat before Mayor Falco steps forward with an outstretched hand. “This is—”

  The edges of his mouth pull to the side, and I get hit with another one of those waves of possession. I think I’m legitimately losing my mind.

  “—Samantha.” I swear his mouth hitches even higher as he finishes her name after a short pause, his hands cradling one of hers, lifting it to place a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

  The familiarity of the move has me at risk of cracking a tooth, and that’s before Samantha practically purrs a “Mr. Mayor” in response.

  Are they flirting with each other? Openly? In public? With countless witnesses? Fuck me that can’t be right. Yes, the mayor of Blackwell is younger than most who hold such a position, but he still is in his thirties.

  “I didn’t think you attended events for BA,” Samantha muses.

  “Typically I don’t.” Falco shakes his head, running a hand over the side of his carefully styled hair, not a bald spot in sight. “But when one of my favorite constituents makes the switch over from BP, I feel it prudent to involve myself in matters that could affect them.”

  “Laying it on a little thick for someone not of age to vote yet.”

  A ripple of amusement makes its way through the circle, but laughing is the last thing I feel like doing at the moment. I’ve been teased and tempted by glimpses of Samantha from a distance all night. I hate that as soon as she’s close, she’s so easily able to designate me as insignificant when I can’t seem to do the same to her.

  CHAPTER 22

  To say this evening has not been playing out how I would have expected is a gross understatement. The sheer amount of praise and gushing pouring out of Natalie in regards to me has me seriously questioning if a hallucinogen was slipped into one of my club sodas. Who is this woman, and what has she done with my Momster?

  All night my gut has been screaming at me that she’s working an angle, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out what game she’s playing. It doesn’t help that the constant and unrelenting attention from one person in particular has frayed my nerves beyond repair.

  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to lay my hand over my erratic heartbeat or grip my side to massage the area over my ever-tightening lungs, not to mention the trip I took to the bathroom just to use my inhaler.

  Can I phone a friend to help me figure out what I did to piss off karma enough that the first person I enjoyed engaging in conversation with is the one responsible for birthing the demon spawn who has haunted my life this last month?

  Then again, it might have something to do with the unfiltered burst of joy I felt from Jasper’s reaction to what he mistakenly took as flirtation between Mayor Falco, aka Uncle Chuck, and myself. Yeah, the constant immature goading attempts probably aren’t earning me karmic brownie points. Oh well.

  I wasn’t lying, though. Seeing Uncle Chuck at a BA event is not something I expected. From all the stories I’ve heard around the Falco dinner table on Sundays, I don’t think any mayor of Blackwell has been involved in the happenings of the prestigious academy that calls our town home. I can’t imagine a scenario where the first one would be a person who has participated in some of the more notorious past pranks.

  There’ve been loads of speculation about the mayoral snub being one reason the rivalry between BP and BA has lived on for generations.

  For centuries, the core value and foundation of Blackwell has been rooted in its residents and whatever is best to help them flourish. With the exception of whatever financial gain the town received from the construction of a private academic establishment back in the day, they haven’t contributed much, keeping things mostly contained to themselves.

  “Samantha, it’s time to take our seats.” The arching of one of Chuck’s eyebrows tells me I’m not the only one to hear the snap of command hidden in Natalie’s words. “And Charles…” There’s a weighted sigh of disappointment as she turns her attention his way. “Maybe if you stopped flirting with people like my daughter, you would be able to find a date for things like these and we wouldn’t have an empty seat at our table.”

  I barely manage to restrain a bark of laughter by folding my lips between my teeth and pressing down with force. Despite the slight age gap between them, Natalie has never liked Chuck. Carter once theorized that it stems from Natalie only marrying into a founding family whereas Chuck is a direct descendant of one like Dad was, but none of the Falcos have any warm feelings toward her. Guess that’s what happens when you suck as a parent and another family has to help pick up the slack.

  “I hate that she calls me Charles,” he mutters under his breath so only I can hear.

  “Oh, and I just love being Samantha.” I nudge him in the ribs, causing him to chuckle. When I glance over his shoulder, it’s a miracle I’m not bleeding out on the floor with the glare Jasper flays us with.

  “Samantha, why don’t you take the seat next to Duke, and Charles, you can take the one next to Headmaster Woodbridge.” Neither of us misses the fact that this particular seating arrangement keeps the one empty chair at the table between us.

  Again keeping with the theme of not actively trying to piss her off, I do as I’m told. Too bad the less-than-two-foot gap is easy to lean across to continue our conversation. It feels like
any number of Sunday evenings I can recall, except…you know…with suckier dinner companions.

  It isn’t until the chair is jerked away from the table and a seething Jasper makes himself at home in it that we break apart. The laughter dancing in Chuck’s dark eyes is exactly the same as when one of the Royals messes with me at poker nights.

  “I hope it’s alright that I join you, seeing as you have a free seat?” Jasper directs the question to Natalie, who eventually acquiesces with a slight nod.

  Duke stretches a fist in front of me, and everyone watches as the two of them bump knuckles while Mrs. Delacourte explains how the families typically sit together at these events.

  I ignore my annoying bookends, wishing not for the first time and certainly not the last that Tinsley were here with me while we’re served the first course of organic field greens topped with feta cheese, dried cranberries, walnuts, and a drizzle of raspberry vinaigrette.

  Conversation flows around the table, politics being the majority of what is discussed, and I tune it out.

  “So, Samantha…” Mrs. Delacourte turns her attention my way when there’s a lull. “Tell us about yourself.”

  “Umm…” I stutter, not at all prepared to become the focus of the evening.

  Mrs. Delacourte giggles, swirling the wine in her glass and taking a dainty sip while Natalie bores holes in my skull with a Careful with what you say glare. “Did you leave behind a boyfriend when you transferred to Blackwell Academy?”

  It’s my turn to chuckle. To have a boyfriend, I would first have to find a guy not afraid of my brother. I don’t say that, though. Lord knows that would raise all kinds of questions Natalie wouldn’t want to be asked. I don’t even think she’s said anything about having another child.

  “No boyfriend.”

  “Really?” Her baby blues light up with interest and flit to her son. “A beautiful girl such as yourself—I would have figured you’d be beating them off with a stick.”

  Murder and warning blazes in Natalie’s eyes as she stares down Chuck, who is choke-laughing. Under the guise of gathering my hair so it falls down my back, I pray he can see the middle finger I have raised against my skull. He’s well aware I don’t need a stick when a King plays the keeper of the castle.

  “Samantha hasn’t met anyone who has been worthy of her yet.” Natalie beams as if she’s the proudest parent in existence when instead she sounds like an entitled brat. Worthy? Really?

  “We should all get together for dinner next time Francis and I are in town.” Mrs. Delacourte bounces around in her seat, hands clasped in front of her like the excited best friend in the rom-coms Tessa and I devour on our movie nights. “Lord knows my son is perpetually single.”

  It’s Duke’s turn to choke as he sputters liquid back into his water glass. Are our parents suggesting what I think they are?

  I jolt in my chair when a large hand grips my thigh under the table. I attempt to remove it, but that only causes Jasper to squeeze until the tips of his fingers turn white against the dark plum of my gown. It’s supremely messed up that my core pulses at the proprietary touch.

  From beneath my lashes, I chance a glance at him, and if the pop of his jaw is any indication, he’s not the biggest fan of what’s being suggested by the matriarchs. For once, we’re on the same page.

  Still…

  It doesn’t stop me from saying, “As long as I have enough notice, I can be there.”

  Tension builds, and an itch forms underneath my skin with the need to break it, regardless of being responsible for creating it. On top of my thigh, Jasper’s thumb starts to trace lazy figure eights. It’s such a contradiction to his agitation that I jump when a white gloved-hand cuts between us to deliver the chateaubriand dished for dinner.

  The rumbly sound of amusement that rolls around in the back of his throat shouldn’t be sexy when it’s made at my expense, but like everything else when it comes to Jasper Noble, it is. At least the arrival of our meal forces him to remove his hand from my body.

  I do my best to shake off the conflicting and straight-up confusing feelings he evokes in me and concentrate instead on the sweet demi-glace. The savory flavors burst along my taste buds as the cooked-to-perfection meat melts like butter as I chew.

  Talk turns to college, with the Delacourtes debating the pros and cons of Duke either attending the governor’s Ivy League alma mater, Princeton, or continuing to pursue hockey at BTU.

  After they share another one of their knuckle bumps at the idea of playing together in college, Jasper drapes his arm along the back of my chair as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  I hate it. No, you don’t.

  I huff, mentally cursing myself.

  Fine! Wanna know what I do hate? How I can’t knock his arm away like I would do any other time. The damn hitch I spot on his delectable mouth from the corner of my eyes tells me that smirk has made an appearance. He probably read my thoughts. Duke, too, based on the way he’s trying to hide a smile in his wine glass. Fucking jerks.

  Fingertips skim along my spine, absentmindedly tracing the detailing on my tattoo. I do my best to straighten from my slouch and create distance, but Jasper’s fingers are long enough to close the gap without much effort.

  Back and forth, the delicious drag of callouses between my bare shoulder blades causes me to shiver, and once again my nipples bud painfully against the adhesive sticking the silicone cups to my breasts.

  “Aren’t you considering BTU as well, Samantha?” Mitchell asks, startling me.

  “Uh…” It takes me a second to recalibrate from the Jasper-induced haze I found myself falling into again.

  “They don’t have a competitive cheer program,” Chuck blurts, and I swallow down a yelp when Jasper pinches me.

  My eyes flare so wide the air conditioner starts to dry them out, and tears prickle at the backs of them as they begin to water.

  “You cheer?” There are all sorts of accusations threaded in Jasper’s tone.

  “They don’t,” I answer Chuck, cautioning him with a Will you chill? glare. Natalie will freak if our personal connection reveals my—and her—connection to Carter. It’s a slippery slope, never knowing what might be the thing that could end up pushing her into carrying out her threats.

  “I don’t,” I say to Jasper, and I finally turn to my stepfather with a question of my own. “I might apply as a backup since they’re local, but what would make you think BTU is my school of choice?”

  I should probably explain my comment on BTU being a backup school. It’s actually pretty hard to get accepted there, but as Chuck pointed out, there is no competitive cheer program. Not to sound like a codependent wienie—even though I totally am—but I’ve only been applying to colleges that have been recruiting Tessa for cheerleading.

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time there the last few weeks. I figured you were doing campus tours or whatnot,” Mitchell explains, and it doesn’t escape my notice how he is the one aware of my comings and goings and not Natalie.

  The truth is simple enough, but again…we have that slipperiness that would piss off his bride.

  “I have permission to use the pool at their aquatic center and swim laps there a few days a week.”

  “Mitchell,” Mrs. Delacourte scolds, playfully slapping him on the forearm with a girlish giggle I wouldn’t have expected from a politician’s wife. “Do you not let your own stepdaughter use the pool here?”

  “He does,” I rush to his defense, which earns me a grin.

  Fingers slip under the edge of my dress, and I roll my shoulder back to warn them away from the ticklish skin near my armpit. “You make your poor driver wait around while you swim laps instead of letting him have the afternoon free?” Those fingers push deeper and curl around my ribcage while he leans in to whisper, “That’s not very nice, Princess.”

  I dip my chin and cant my head like we’re two friends sharing secrets but speak loud enough that the others at the table can still hear. “No,
Daniel just drops me off, and a friend takes me home once he’s”—I enunciate the particular sex of my friend, knowing what it does to him—“done with practice.”

  I purposely leave out what kind of practice it is given the company at the table. Plus, Natalie will flip her lid if I start to openly discuss anything that alludes to my connection to the Royals. She’s not aware that Jasper and Duke know about it, and that’s a bridge I’m not looking forward to crossing when it comes to it.

  My phone starts to vibrate inside my small clutch, causing the crystals to rattle against the silver charger plate left over after dinner was cleared. Making my excuses, I reach inside and see a text from Tessa, thanking whoever is listening for her fortuitous timing.

  CHAPTER 23

  Dinner was a master class in restraint. The feel of Samantha’s body close to mine, the wafting of her sweet lime scent, the tempting line of her neck, and the vein fluttering down the side of it exposed by the way her hair is pinned back had me wanting to sink my teeth into her the way I did my chateaubriand. I’m sure not even the premium cut of beef could live up to what she must taste like.

  Eating a meal and making polite conversation is exponentially more difficult when all the blood in your body is relegated below the belt and you’re sporting an erection to end all erections.

  The sass, the defiance, the motherfucking flirting had me close to tossing her on this table to prove to her, Duke, her mother, Mrs. Delacourte, and especially the god. Damned. Mayor that she belongs to me and no one else.

  It bugs the fuck out of me that this perv to my left knows intimate details about Samantha’s life. Shit! I can’t think of things like intimate details because all that will do is make me spiral into wondering how intimately he might know her.