I don’t know what Jordan’s comeback would have been, because there’s a commotion behind me. People move, and I know who’s standing behind me before Jordan’s perfect red lips form his name.
“Reed,” she breathes. “I didn’t see you there.”
There’s an uncertainty in her voice that surprises me. I wonder what the exact text of Reed’s anti-Ella decree is, and I make a mental note to ask Valerie.
“You done?” he asks, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, or Jordan. By the way her eyes flick from me to some place about a foot above my head, she’s not sure either.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go over our AP English assignment,” she says finally.
“Finished it,” he replies tersely.
Jordan rubs her lips together. That’s a slap at her and we all know it. I almost feel sorry for her…almost.
“Hey, Reed,” a different, softer voice chimes in. It comes from a delicate looking girl whose golden blonde hair is caught up in braids that wrap around her head like a crown. Her cornflower blue eyes are covered in ridiculously long lashes, which wave like feathers as she waits for Reed’s response.
“Abby,” he says, his entire face softening. “Nice to see you.”
Half the chicks in this school claim to have slept with him, but who knows if that’s true. Only one I know about for sure is Jordan’s friend Abby.
So this is the girl who caught Reed, at least once. I can see why. She’s gorgeous. So is Jordan, but Abby is soft in a way that Jordan—and me—are not. This is what Reed likes? Soft girls who talk to their feet? No wonder he isn’t interested in—wait, what am I even thinking? I don’t care if Reed is interested in me. He’s welcome to all the pale, starry-eyed girls like Abby he wants.
“I’ve missed you,” she says, and the longing in her voice makes us all shift uncomfortably.
“It’s been a busy summer,” Reed replies, shoving both hands in his pockets. He’s not meeting Abby’s eyes, and his tone has an air of finality to it.
She hears it, too, and her eyes glisten. It might be over for Reed, but it’s painfully obvious that Abby hasn’t moved on. I kind of feel sorry for her.
When Reed lays his heavy hand on my shoulder, I almost jump out of my skin. And I don’t miss the spiteful glares from the toothpaste girls or the wounded dove expression on Abby’s face. If Reed Royal touches anyone, it’s not supposed to be me.
“You ready, Ella?” he mutters.
“Ahhh, I guess?”
This whole confrontation makes my shoulders itch, so I don’t argue when Reed steers me toward Easton’s truck. When we reach it, I jerk out of Reed’s grip. “Where’s Easton?”
“He’s driving the twins.”
“Did you just use me to get away from your ex?” I ask as he opens the door and pushes me inside.
“She’s not my ex.” He slams the door.
As Reed rounds the front of the truck, I see Valerie waving to me with a huge-ass grin on her face. Behind her, Jordan is glowering. Abby looks like a kicked puppy.
“Buckle up,” Reed orders as he starts the truck.
I do what he says because it’s safe, not because he told me to.
“Where’s Durand?” I wave back to Valerie, who gives me the thumbs up. I hope Jordan didn’t see that or Valerie may find herself moving from her proper bedroom to some closet in the basement. “And why are you driving me?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” He pauses for a beat. “Are you trying to embarrass the family?”
Shocked, I turn in my seat to look at him and try not to notice how sexy his strong forearms look as he grips the steering wheel in frustration.
“Do you think I threw garbage in my own locker?” I ask incredulously.
“I’m not talking about that juvenile bullshit Jordan is pulling. I mean your job at the bakery.”
“First, how do you know about that, Mr. Stalker? And second, how is that even remotely embarrassing?”
“First, I have football practice in the mornings. I saw Durand drop you off there,” he bites out. “And second, it implies that we aren’t taking care of you. At lunch someone asked if Callum bought the bakery and that’s why the new Royal is working there.”
I fall back against the seat and cross my arms. “Well, golly gee, I’m so sorry that you had to answer an awkward question at lunch. That must have been so inconvenient. Much more inconvenient than getting hit in the face with a tampon flying out of your locker.”
When he grins, I totally lose it. All the frustration and hurt comes rolling out of me. I’m tired of playing the good, calm girl. I rise up on my knees, reach over and hit him across the top of his head.
“Fuck,” he curses. “What the hell was that for?”
“That’s for being an asshole!” I hit him again, thumb tucked away and knuckles out, just like my mom’s old boyfriend taught me.
Reed pushes me back, hard, against the passenger door. “Sit the fuck down! You’re gonna make us crash.”
“I’m not going to sit down!” I swing at him again. “I’m tired of you and your insults and your awful friends!”
“Maybe if you’re straight with me, then I’ll call off the dogs. What’s your game?” He glowers at me, one long arm still pushing me away from him.
I try to fight my way to him, flinging my arms but catching nothing but air. “You want to know what my game is? My game is to get a diploma and go to college! That’s my game!”
“Why’d you come here? I know you took money from my dad.”
“I never asked for your father to bring me here!”
“You didn’t fight it very hard,” he snaps. “If you even fought at all.”
The accusation stings, partly because it’s true but also because it’s unfair.
“Yeah, I didn’t fight it—because I’m not an idiot. Your father offered me a future, and I’d be the stupidest person on the planet not to take him up on that. If that makes me a money grubber or a gold digger, then fine, I guess I am. But at least I’m not the type of person who makes someone walk two miles in the dark, in a strange place.”
I watch with satisfaction as a flicker of remorse flashes through his eyes.
“So you admit you have no shame,” he spits out.
“Yes, I don’t have any problem admitting I have no shame,” I shoot back. “Shame and principles are for people who don’t have to worry about the little things, like how much can I buy for a dollar to feed myself all day or do I pay my mom’s medical bills or buy some weed so she can go for an hour without pain. Shame is a luxury.”
I fall back, exhausted. I stop trying to fight him. It’s impossible anyway. He’s too strong. Dammit.
“You haven’t cornered the market on grief. You’re not the only one who lost his mother. Oh poor Reed Royal,” I mock, “he’s turned into an asshole because he lost his mommy.”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
Before the words even come out of my mouth, I realize how ridiculous we’re being and start laughing. A minute ago, we were yelling at each other like five-year-olds. I laugh so hard I start crying. Or maybe I was crying all along and it just sounded like laughter. I bend over and put my head between my legs because I don’t want Reed to see he’s broken me.
“Stop crying,” he mutters.
“Stop telling me what to do,” I sob.
He finally shuts up and I manage to get myself back in control by the time we drive past the gate and into the side driveway. Did I really say I had no shame? That’s not at all true. And I’m mortified that I cried for five minutes in front of Reed Royal.
“You done?” he asks after he brakes and cuts the engine.
“Screw you,” I say tiredly.
“I want you to stop working at the bakery.”
“I want Jordan to grow a heart overnight. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”
He makes a frustrated noise. “Callum won’t like it.”
“Oh my
God! You’re constantly changing the rules. Stay away from me, Ella. Get in the car, Ella. Don’t bleed my father dry, Ella. Don’t get a job, Ella. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“That makes two of us,” he says darkly.
I don’t even want to touch that. So I open the truck door and stumble out.
The devil inside of me stirs, I guess so I can save a little face, and I turn abruptly. “Oh, and Reed? Don’t use me as a cover because you don’t want to face up to an ex.”
“She’s not an ex,” he roars after me.
I shouldn’t find those words so satisfying, but I do.
13
The second I get inside, I hurry upstairs and lock myself in my bedroom. I dump my schoolbooks on the bed and grab the first assignment I see, but it’s hard to concentrate on my homework when I’m still so angry and embarrassed about what just happened between Reed and me.
The rational part of my brain understands where my outburst came from. Less than a week ago my entire life was uprooted. Callum wrenched me out of Kirkwood and brought me to this strange town and his fancy house to face off with his asshole sons. The Royal brothers have done nothing but antagonize me since I got here. Their friends shamed me at that stupid party and humiliated me at school today. And through it all, Reed Royal is spouting his golden rules and then changing them every other second.
What normal seventeen-year-old girl wouldn’t lose her shit?
But that other part of me, the one that tries to protect me at all costs by shielding my emotions…that part yells at me for allowing myself to cry in front of Reed. For letting him see just how uncertain and vulnerable I feel in this new world I’ve been thrust into.
I hate myself for being weak.
Somehow I manage to finish my assignments, but now it’s six o’clock and my stomach is grumbling.
God, I don’t want to go downstairs. I wish I could just order room service. Why doesn’t this place have room service? It’s pretty much a hotel already.
Stop hiding from him. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
If I skip dinner, Reed will know he won, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him break me.
Still, even after I decide to face the jerk, I continue to stall. I take a long shower and wash my hair, then change into a pair of tiny black boxers and a loose red tank top. Then I brush my wet hair. Then I check my phone to see if Valerie texted. Then—
Okay, enough procrastinating. My empty stomach agrees, rumbling the entire way down the spiral staircase.
In the kitchen, I find one of the twins at the stove, stirring a spatula in what looks like a wad of noodles. The other twin is poking his head in the fridge, griping to his brother.
“What the hell, man. I thought Sandra was back from vacation.”
“Tomorrow,” the other twin answers.
“Thank fuck. Since when do housekeepers go on vacay? I’m tired of cooking our own meals. We shoulda gone out for dinner with Dad ’n Reed.”
My forehead wrinkles as I absorb the information. One, these boys are so spoiled—they can’t even cook their own meals? And two, Reed went out for dinner with Callum? Did Callum hold a gun to his head?
The twin at the stove notices me lurking in the doorway and frowns. “What are you looking at?”
I shrug. “Just watching you burn your dinner.”
His head whirls to the pan, and he groans when he notices the smoke rising from it. “Goddammit! Seb, grab an oven mitt!”
Jeez, these boys really are useless. What the heck does he plan on doing with the oven mitt?
The question answers itself when Sawyer slips on the mitt his brother tosses him and lifts the pan by its handle, which, unless it’s a defective pan, wouldn’t have a hot handle. I get a kick out of watching the boys try to salvage their dinner, and I can’t fight a snicker when hot oil splashes out of the pan and burns Sawyer’s non-oven-mitt-covered wrist.
He howls in pain as his brother shuts off the burner. Then they both stare at the burnt chicken and noodles in dismay.
“Cereal?” Sebastian says.
Sawyer sighs.
Even with the terrible burning smell in the air, my stomach is still growling, so I saunter over to the wall of cupboards and start grabbing ingredients while the twins watch me warily.
“I’m making spaghetti,” I tell them without turning around. “Do you want any?”
There’s a long silence before one of them mumbles “yes.” The other follows suit.
I cook in silence while they sit at the table like the lazy, entitled Royals that they are, neither one offering to help me. Twenty minutes later, the three of us are eating our dinner. Not a single word passes between us.
Easton walks in at the tail end of the meal, his eyes narrowing when he spots me shoving my plate in the dishwasher. Then he looks at the table, where his brothers are on their second helping of spaghetti.
“Sandra back from vacation?”
Sebastian shakes his head and shovels more pasta into his mouth.
His twin jerks his head toward me. “She cooked.”
“She has a name,” I say curtly. “And you’re welcome for dinner. Ungrateful jerks.” I mutter that last part under my breath as I stalk out of the kitchen.
Instead of going back to my room, I find myself wandering into the library. Callum showed it to me the other day, and I’m still in awe of the sheer amount of books in the room. The built-in bookshelves go all the way up to the ceiling, and there’s an old-timey ladder you can use to reach the top shelves. On the other side of the room is a cozy sitting area with two overstuffed chairs positioned in front of a modern fireplace.
I don’t feel like reading, but I flop down in one of the chairs anyway, breathing in the scent of leather and old books. As my gaze moves to the fireplace mantle, my heart speeds up. Photographs line the stone ledge, and one in particular snags my attention. It’s a shot of a young-looking Callum in a Navy uniform, with his arm slung over the shoulder of a tall, blond man also in uniform.
I think it’s Steve O’Halloran. My father.
I stare at the man’s chiseled face, the blue eyes that seem to twinkle with mischief as they meet the camera lens. I have his eyes. And my hair is the same shade of blond.
When footsteps echo behind me, I turn to see Easton stride into the library.
“I heard you tried to kill my brother today,” he drawls.
“He had it coming.” I turn my back to him again, but he comes up beside me, and from the corner of my eye I see that his profile is harder than stone.
“Let’s be straight with each other. Did you really think you’d show up here on our father’s arm and we’d all be cool with it?”
“I’m not on your father’s arm. I’m his ward.”
“Yeah? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not fucking my dad.”
For God’s sake. Gritting my teeth, I meet his surly gaze head-on and say, “I’m not fucking your dad. And ew for even suggesting it.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a stretch. He likes ’em young.”
That’s obviously a reference toward Brooke, but I don’t comment on it. My gaze travels back to the picture on the mantle.
Easton and I go silent, for so long I wonder why he’s even still here.
“Uncle Steve was a baller,” he finally says. “Chicks dropped their panties when that dude walked into a room.”
Double ew. That is not something I ever wanted to know about my father.
“What was he like?” I ask reluctantly.
“He was all right, I guess. We didn’t spend much time with him. He was always holed up in my dad’s study. The two of them would sit there talking for hours.” Easton sounds bitter.
“Aw, your daddy liked my daddy better than you? Is that why you hate me so much?”
He rolls his eyes. “Do yourself a favor and stop provoking my brother. If you keep getting in his face, you’re just gonna get hurt.”
“Why bother with the warning? Isn’t th
at what you want, for me to get hurt?”
He doesn’t answer. He just steps away from the mantle and leaves me in the library, where I continue to stare at my father’s picture.
* * *
I wake up at midnight to the sound of hushed voices in the hallway outside my bedroom door. I’m groggy as hell, but alert enough to recognize Reed’s voice, and even though I’m lying down, my knees actually feel weak.
I haven’t seen him since our fight in the car earlier. When he got back from dinner with Callum, I was already locked up in my room again, but judging by the angry footsteps and slamming door, I’m pretty sure dinner didn’t go so well.
I don’t know why I slide out of bed, or why I tiptoe toward my door. Eavesdropping isn’t really my style, but I want to know what he’s saying and who he’s saying it to. I want to know if it’s about me, and maybe that’s really conceited, but I still need to know.
“…practice in the morning.” It’s Easton talking now, and I press my ear to the door to try to hear more clearly. “…agreed to cut down during the season.”
Reed mutters something I can’t make out.
“I get it, okay? I’m not crazy about her being here either, but that’s no reason to…” Easton’s sentence cuts out.
“It’s not about her.” I hear that loud and clear, and I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed that whatever they’re discussing doesn’t involve me.
“…then I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Reed says sharply. “…going alone tonight.”
He’s going somewhere? Where the hell is he going this late, and on a school night? Worry tugs at my gut, which almost makes me laugh, because all of a sudden I’m worrying about Reed Royal, the guy I attacked in the car earlier?
“Now you sound like Gid,” Reed accuses.
“Yeah, well, maybe you…”
Their voices go hushed again, which is so fricking frustrating because I know I’m missing something important.
I’m tempted to fling open the door and stop Reed from doing whatever he’s about to do, but it’s too late. Two sets of footsteps echo in the hall, and a door clicks shut. Then it’s just one set of footsteps, barely audible as they descend the stairs.