Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (11 page)

T
he minute Ella’s
eyes swing toward me, I know she’s jumped to the wrong conclusion.

I grab her wrist and drag her out of the parlor and into the room across the hall, which just so happens to be my mom’s study—and the place Gid and I found her after…after she died. Perfect. This is exactly where my relationship with Ella will be saved.
Not.

“Look—” I start, but she’s off and running before I can get another syllable out.

“That’s your baby, isn’t it?” she hisses.

“No. I swear it. It’s not mine.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her hands are tiny fists at her side.

I want to reach for her, but I don’t think that’ll go over well. “I haven’t touched her since you came here,” I repeat for what feels like the thousandth time. “I was done with her even before that.”

She slaps the nearest surface and dust fills the air. This room has been closed up for a long time. “How do you know it’s not yours?”

I shift uncomfortably, because answering requires me to dredge up a bad memory, but I don’t have much choice. “When I saw her, she just had a small bump.”

Ella pales, and I know she’s remembering that night when she discovered Brooke naked in my room. “You don’t know. You can’t know. Not until you get a test done. I’m sick.” She presses a hand to her stomach. “I feel actually, honest to God, sick to my stomach.”

“It’s not mine. It must be my dad’s. Or hell, it could be anyone’s. She’s willing to cheat on my dad,” I say with desperation.

“So are you.”

I suck in a breath. That’s a direct hit and she knows it. But I’m not giving up. This is a fight I’m going to win even if I have to play dirty.

“I’m not going to deny that I was a dick. Maybe I still am, but I’m not the father of Brooke’s baby. I didn’t cheat on you. I kept a secret about my past from you, and it was a crappy thing to do. I know that. It was wrong. I’m sorry. Just…please, please forgive me,” I plead. “Put both of us out of our misery.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” There’s a dullness in her face that scares me. She shakes her head. “Before I met you, my life was full of shitty things. But I dealt because what else could I do? It didn’t matter that my dad was never around, because I had my mom. I told myself that I should be grateful when she died because she was in so much pain. Then I came here and I looked at you and thought, I see myself beneath that hard, rough exterior. This boy lost his mother. He’s angry and hurt and I see him. Maybe he sees me, too.”

She folds her arms around her middle—trying to hold something in, keep me out. I don’t know anything other than she’s hurting. I reach for her, but she flinches as if even the thought of my touch is too painful.

Fuck, she’s hurting so bad and I did that to her.

“I did…
do
…see you,” I whisper.

She’s not listening. “And I thought, I’ll just keep after him. Eventually I’ll wear him down, convince him that we’re a beautiful fairy tale. But we’re not. We’re nothing. We’re
smoke
—insubstantial and meaningless.” She flicks her fingers against each other in a soundless snap. “We aren’t even a tragedy. We’re less than nothing.”

Her words make my heart ache. She’s right. I should walk away, but I can’t. And the fact that she’s in so much pain tells me that she needs me. Only a coward would stop fighting now. I caused all this pain, but I know that I can take it away if she’d give me the chance.

I take a deep breath. “I can play this two ways. I can walk away. Or I can fight for you. Guess which one I’m doing?”

Ella glares at me in stony silence, so I keep talking. “I messed up. I should’ve been honest with you from the start. Brooke told me she was pregnant that night. I panicked. My whole brain shut down. I scrambled for a way out that didn’t include me telling you that I ever touched her. I was ashamed. Okay? Ashamed. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Her lips curl. “Yeah, well, you know what I am? I’m the stupid girl in the horror movie. You
made
me into that stupid girl.” She points an accusing finger at me. “I’m the one running back into the house where the guy with the knife is. You warned me. Over and over again, you told me to stay away. But I couldn’t listen. I thought I knew better.”

“I was wrong. We shouldn’t stay away from each other. We can’t stay away from each other. You and I both know that.”

I walk toward her and stop when my toes nearly touch hers. Then, in one swift movement, I haul her against me. Oh fuck. She feels so good pressed up against me. I want to shove a hand in her soft hair and kiss the shit out of her, but she’s gazing up at me with livid, burning eyes.

“Stop
touching
me,” she snaps. “I’d rather die—”

I cover her mouth with my palm. “Don’t say things you’ll regret. Don’t say things we can’t come back from,” I warn.

Her hand flies up and crashes against the side of my face. My chin jerks to the right on impact, but I don’t let go. Her eyes are bright and her shoulders are shaking. I bet I look just as stupid and crazy and out-of-control at this moment as she does.

“What do you want from me? Tell me and I’ll do it. Do you want me on my knees? Me kissing your feet?”

“No, keep your pride,” she says snidely. “You’ll need something to keep you warm at night. Oh wait, that’s what you have Brooke for.” She gives my chest a hard shove and scrambles away, and she’s wresting the door open before I can reach her.

In the hall, Dad and Brooke grind to a halt. Dad looks at Ella’s fleeing figure and then back at me with narrowed eyes. Brooke’s all smiles.

Angrily, I stomp past them to find Gid. Maybe he has answers for me. At this point, he’s the only brother left who’ll talk to me.

I find him standing outside on the rocky ridge that separates the lawn from the sliver of sand we call a beach. The Atlantic is cold and dark, lit up only by a partially covered moon.

He doesn’t turn to look at me when he asks, “Is the baby yours?”

“Why does everyone think that?”

“Gee, bro, I can’t imagine why anyone who knew you slept with Brooke might think that her baby is yours.”

“It’s not.” I run a hand through my hair. “I haven’t touched her in over six months. Not since St. Patrick’s Day. We got lit, remember? I passed out upstairs. She climbed on top of me. I don’t remember much about it except waking up naked with her next to me. Dad was outside, calling us in to dinner. I was gonna tell him then. That night. But I chickened out.”

Gideon doesn’t answer. He simply keeps staring at the water.

“I used to think that Dinah and Brooke were trying to destroy this family, but now I think it’s us. We’re the ones killing the family. I don’t know how to make it better, Gid. Tell me.”
Help me.
He doesn’t speak, so I try again, desperate to make a connection. “Remember when Mom read us
Swiss Family Robinson
and we walked up and down the coast trying to find a perfect cave to live in? It was all five of us. We were going to kill the whale, eat berries, make our own clothes out of Spanish moss and seaweed.”

“We’re not kids anymore.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t mean we’re not still family.”

“You wanted to leave,” he reminds me. “That’s all you fucking talked about. Getting away from here. Now because Ella’s around you think it’s worth staying? What kind of loyalty do you have to your family?”

He jumps onto the sand and lets the night swallow him up, leaving me alone with my miserable thoughts.

Nobody forced me to sleep with Brooke. I made that decision all by myself. I took perverse satisfaction in figuratively sticking it to my dad by literally sticking it to his girlfriend.

I wanted him to suffer. He deserved to after everything he did to our family. He drove Mom to the brink with his cheating and lies. I feel like the lies were the worst. If he hadn’t repeatedly promised that he wasn’t involved in all those things Steve was doing, in all those whorehouses around the world with all those high-class escorts, models, and actresses that a billionaire’s money can buy, maybe Mom would’ve left him.

And if she’d left, she’d probably still be alive today. But she’s not. She’s dead, and Dad’s neglect and cheating killed her as solidly as the pills she took that night.

I press my lips together. Of course, my revenge is meaningless since I haven’t had the balls to tell him about me and Brooke. And every time I think about him finding out I feel like puking.

I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to destroy everything around me. Who knew success would taste so bitter.

“
W
hat’s going on
?” Val demands at lunch on Friday. “And don’t say nothing because you all look like a royally depressed mess. Even Easton looks like someone kicked his puppy.”

“Is that a euphemism?” I try joking.

Valerie glares at me. “No. Not really.”

I pick at my meal. I haven’t been able to eat much this week and I think it shows. Every time I try to eat, the vision of Brooke telling us all about her pregnancy pops up, except it isn’t Callum at her side. It’s Reed. And then my terrible mind runs with it, showing me images of Reed holding the baby, pushing a stroller in the park with Brooke looking like a fitness model beside him, the two of them cooing over their stupid baby’s first steps.

No wonder I can’t eat.

This morning when I pulled my jeans on, they felt loose. The clothes are wearing me instead of the other way around.

I’m not ready to tell Val about how the entire Royal household is rotting from the inside out, but if I don’t give her something she might stab me with her fork. “I thought being an only child sucked, but family drama is a hundred times worse.”

“Reed?” she asks.

“Not just him. It’s everyone.” I hate the tension in the house. The way the brothers don’t look at each other over breakfast. And I can’t even escape because I’ve lost my job. I guess I should start looking for a new one. This time it’s not because I need the money, but because every time I walk into the house, I feel like a hundred pound weight descends on my shoulders. And it’s going to be even worse once the baby arrives. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that.

“Life sucks, but if it makes you feel any better, I blocked Tam’s phone number.”

“You did?”
It’s about time
. Tam’s stupid suggestion of having an open relationship was basically his way of keeping Val locked down while he spread his skanky ass all over his college campus, and she doesn’t deserve that. “Because that does make me feel better.”

“Yup, and it felt good. I was tormenting myself reading all his texts and I could feel myself weakening.”

“You know you can do better.”

“I know.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke. “So last night I blocked him and I slept well for the first time in a long time. I woke up this morning and, yeah, it still hurt, but the pain wasn’t as bad.”

“It’s going to get better.” The words come out limply. That used to be my personal mantra.

I don’t know if I believe it anymore.

She fiddles with the can. “I hope so. Is there a real life block button? Because I need that in my life.”

“Sunglasses. Really big sunglasses,” I advise. “Or wait, even better—a shield.” I could use one at home against Reed.

A reluctant smile spreads across her face as she considers my silly suggestion. “Wouldn’t it be awkward trying to maneuver in that thing?”

“Nah, it’s brilliant. Let’s patent the sucker and make millions.”

“Done.” She holds out her hand and I slap my palm against hers.

“God, Val. I think you’re the best thing that happened to me since I moved here.”

“I know.” She gets a speculative look in her eyes, slides a glance toward the football table, and then returns to me. “Let’s go to the game tonight.”

“Um, no thanks. I take back every good thing I’ve said about you.”

“Why not?”

“First, I don’t like football. Second, I don’t want to cheer for people I don’t like. Third, other than you, all the rest of Astor Park can die in a fiery blaze.”

“You can pick me up at six thirty.”

“No. I don’t want to go to the game.”

“Aw, come on. Both of us need a distraction. You need one from Reed and I need one from Tam. Everyone goes to the Riders’ games. We can inspect the man stock that’s available and pick one to ease our broken hearts with.”

“Can’t we just eat a barrel of ice cream?”

“We’ll do both. We’re going to eat our ice cream and get eaten.”

She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh reluctantly, but inwardly my heart’s protesting. The only touch I want is Reed’s. The cheating bastard. Dammit. Maybe I do need a distraction.

“Okay, let’s go.”

* * *

“
G
et out of the car
,” Val orders when she climbs into the passenger seat later that night. “I need to get a better look at this outfit.”

“You’ll see it when we get to the game.”

“Are you doing this to make Reed come in his football pants or to make the girls at Astor Park freak out?”

I ignore the reference to Reed. I definitely wasn’t thinking of how I wanted to make him burn with jealousy. Nuh-uh. Not at all.

“You told me I’m supposed to pick out a new man tonight. This is my man-hunting outfit.” I wave a hand toward my clothes.

I paired striped knee socks over black leggings topped with an old jersey I found at the secondhand store I hit after school. I couldn’t tuck the material into the top of the leggings without it looking like I had a bunch of socks stuffed down my pants, so I bought a big black belt and bunched the jersey around my hips.

Two loose braids and smeared eyeblack—which in my case was a load of black eyeliner over a heavy priming base so it wouldn’t budge—under my eyes complete my pinup football look.

“I suggested one man, not a whole herd,” Val says wryly. “But maybe this works for my benefit. You pick the one you want and you can leave the rest for me.”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously. I’m thinking we need to get the twins to escort us inside. I’m afraid of what the girls are gonna do when they get a load of you.”

Val’s prediction isn’t that far off the mark. The football girlfriends scowl at me when we walk past the area where the girlfriends and parents wait for the players to run from the locker room onto the field.

A few insults—“slut”, “trailer trash”, and “what do you expect”—trickle down the crowd from the other girls.

“These chicks are so jealous they won’t even have to shove their fingers down their throats tonight,” Val snarks. “Their jealousy will eat away at all their extra calories.”

I shrug. “I’ve heard worse and I don’t really care.”

“You shouldn’t. Next week we’ll be surrounded by a whole team of slutty football players.”

“I’ll have to up my game, then.” I don’t mind a challenge.

When we arrive at the student section, Jordan turns us away.

“You can’t sit with us,” she announces.

I roll my eyes. “Why, because I’m too trashy for your precious bleachers?”

“That, too.” She smirks. “But also because you’re wearing the wrong colors.”

I look up at the mass of students and realize she’s right. They’re all situated so that the color of their T-shirts spells out an A in gold against a black background. I’m wearing a white jersey and Val’s wearing a cropped gray knit sweater. Jordan’s in a black catsuit, and the only thing missing from her latex dominatrix gear is a whip and a chair.

“I guess we missed the memo.” Because there had to be one, seeing as how everyone else fits perfectly into Jordan’s scheme. I’m reluctantly impressed. It can’t be easy to wrangle a couple hundred students into wearing color-coordinated shirts depending on where you’re sitting on the stands.

“Maybe you should check the Astor snap stories once in a while.” She turns with a swish of her glossy hair.

I didn’t even know there was an Astor snapchat account.

“Come on,” Val says, tugging my arm. “We’ll sit with the parents.”

We find a place at the top where we can eat popcorn and pretend to cheer for the Riders. “What on earth is Jordan wearing?” I giggle. “Is she a part-time S&M Mistress?”

“Nah.” Val throws a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth. “The dance team performs at half-time before the band so I’m guessing that’s their costume.”

She’s right. When halftime comes around, Jordan and her squad put on a routine with so much boob and ass shaking that I feel like I should slip some of Daddy G’s business cards in their gym bags in case their trust funds ever dry up.

“They’d get at least the five dollar tips,” I whisper to Val behind my hand.

“Only five dollars? I’d want at least twenty per dude before I’d strip.”

“What are you talking about? You’d strip for free,” I tease. Val has told me before that she has exhibitionist tendencies. When we go to the Moonglow club’s eighteen-and-over night, Val makes me dance in the cages suspended from the ceiling.

“True. But I wouldn’t mind getting paid.” She gives me a thoughtful look. “How much did you say you earned while you were working at these clubs?”

“I didn’t. And stripping is a lot different from cage dancing in front of a bunch of hot high school and college guys,” I caution. Most strip clubs reek of desperation and regret and I’m not just referring to the strippers’ dressing room. The guys on the floor waving their singles around over their eight-dollar steak lunches are as needy as the girls on the stage.

Val wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It’d be nice to have the extra cash, and you must’ve been making serious bank to be able to support yourself and your mom on it.”

“The money is the only good thing about it. Besides, you wouldn’t want to strip around here. Think if someone saw you and then you had to have classes with him or something. That’d be a hundred different kinds of awkward.”

She sighs. “It was just an idea.”

I feel a stab of sympathy. I know that Val’s status as the poor relation really bugs her. I wish I could give her part of my stash—it’s not like I need it—but she’s not the kind of person who’d accept a handout. She’d see it as charity, which she already has to accept from her aunt and uncle.

“How about I hire you to be my bodyguard? Because everyone’s looking at me right now like they want to murder me. Especially that one over there.” I jerk my head toward the second row of the student section, where a familiar golden-haired girl keeps swiveling around to frown at me.

“Ha. Abby wouldn’t hurt a flea. She’s too passive. Do you think she wears that Eeyore expression when she comes?”

I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my shout of laughter.

But it’s true. Reed’s ex is pale, quiet, and mild-mannered, as opposite from me as you can get. Someone said that Abby reminds them of Reed’s mom. At one time that made me nervous as hell, because Reed adored his mom. These days, I don’t give a crap about trying to impress Reed Royal.

Abby obviously still does, though. And she obviously views me as competition, because she won’t stop staring at me. If she’d asked, I could’ve given her a pretty good tip about how to win Reed over. First and foremost, don’t sleep with his brother.

“Did she really hook up with Easton when I was gone?” I ask Val.

“Yup. What an idiot, right? I mean, that’s a surefire way to send Reed running in the opposite direction.” Val purses her lips. “Or wait, maybe not. You made out with Easton and that didn’t scare Reed off.” Then she changes her tune again. “But you’re special. Abby isn’t. No way is Reed getting back together with her now.”

“Even Abby is too good for him,” I grumble. “He deserves to be alone for all of eternity.”

Val snickers.

“Actually, I was really hoping someone would break his legs in the game, but unfortunately it looks like he’s still up and walking around.”

“We could break them.”

“Take a baseball bat to him in the middle of the night?” I say wistfully.

“Sounds like you’ve already got this all planned out.”

“I might’ve fantasized about it a few times,” I admit.

“After we’re done with Reed, can we drive up to State?”

“Obvs. Then we’ll put an ad on Craigslist offering our services to other women. We’ll name our bat ‘Vengeance.’”

“Your bloodthirstiness is turning me on so much right now.”

“Save it for one of the herd,” I tell her. “You have your eye on any of them?”

“No. I’m still considering my options.” Meaning, the only thing she can see right now is Tam. I have the same problem, except my vision is blocked by Reed.

We slump in the bleacher seats and turn our attention back to the game.

The Riders win, as expected, and talk after the game immediately turns toward Winter Formal that Astor Park puts on after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The dance talk is like foreplay for Jordan. She’s glowing when Val and I descend the stadium steps. Our progress is slowed by all the parents stopping to tell Jordan how much they liked her routine and how talented she is.

Jordan thrusts out her boobs a little more with each compliment. The dads stare at her with lusty hunger and she looks like she’s getting off on it.

“Nice show,” I tell Jordan as we draw even with her. She looks pretty fantastic in her form-fitting costume, and there’s a dewy glow on her cheeks left over from the exertion on the field.

Her eyes flick over me with disdain and then dismissal. She turns to her cousin. “You’re too good for this piece of trash, Val. Why don’t you come to Shea’s party with me?”

“Pass. I wouldn’t climb into your car if we were on Fury Road and the warboys were after me.”

A few kids snort with laughter behind us. That only makes Jordan angrier.