Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1) (9 page)

“No one’s sending Ella away. She’s a Royal,” Callum declares.

My gaze shifts to Brooke, and by the tight expression on her face, she doesn’t miss that her name wasn’t included in his pronouncement.

“Really? I thought she was Steve’s daughter. Is there something you’re not telling us?” Brooke trills.

He rears back as if she hit him. “What? No. Of course she’s Steve’s. But he’s”—Callum swallows hard—“he’s gone, and so Ella is part of my family now just as the boys would have been Steve’s if anything had happened to me.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean anything other than you’re generous.” Her voice drops to a purr. “So very generous.”

With each word, she moves closer and closer to Callum until she’s virtually on his lap. He switches his fork to his left hand and drapes an arm around the back of Brooke’s chair. His eyes plead with me to understand.
I’m using her just as she’s using me.

I get it, I really do. This is a man who lost his wife and best friend in a short span of time. I know what loss feels like, and if Brooke fills up those empty spaces for Callum, then good for him.

But I don’t need to watch them in action.

“I’m going inside to get a—” I don’t even bother finishing because Brooke has climbed on top of Callum. I watch wide-eyed as she straddles him, pulling on his ears like he’s a hobby horse.

“Not here, Brooke.” His eyes flicker toward me.

I start walking—quickly—toward the kitchen. Behind me, I hear her reassure Callum.

“She’s seventeen, darling. She probably knows more about sex than the two of us put together. And if she doesn’t, your boys will expose her innocent eyes soon enough.”

That makes me cringe, but whatever spell Brooke has cooked up is doing its thing because I hear Callum groan.

“Wait. Wait. Brooke.”

She giggles breathily and then Callum’s chair starts squeaking. Damn, this is a big patio.

Easton is coming out of the kitchen as I make my escape inside. He peers past me, totally unfazed by what’s happening on the patio.

“Welcome to the Royal Palace,” he says. An impish grin spreads across his face and he yells, “Don’t forget to wrap it before you tap it. We don’t need more money-grubbing illegitimate kids in this family.”

My smile dies off immediately. “Did someone teach you how to be a jerk or does it come naturally?”

Easton hesitates for a moment, but then, as if Reed is sitting on his shoulder, he drops his hand to his crotch. “Why don’t you come upstairs and I’ll show you just how good I am in my natural state?”

“Pass.” I walk by as calmly as possible, and I don’t start running until I hit the stairs.

Once I’m in the privacy of my bedroom, I list all the reasons why I shouldn’t leave immediately. I remind myself that I’m not hungry. I have ten grand in my backpack. I’m not stripping for greedy men with dollar bills clutched in their sweaty hands. I can handle two years of sexual come-ons and personal putdowns from the Royal boys.

But for the rest of the night I stay in my room, where I spend the time looking for part-time jobs using the shiny new MacBook that magically appeared on my desk. There’s no public transport outside the house, but I passed a bus stop last night that wasn’t too far away. Maybe a quarter of a mile.

The next day, I make the walk, and according to my watch it takes ten minutes at a brisk pace, which is more like a half mile. The Sunday bus schedule is snoozy—only one every hour and it stops at six. Whatever job I get would need to be over early on Sundays.

On my way home, Gideon drives by in a shiny SUV. His hair is sticking up and he’s got red marks on his neck. If it were anyone else, I’d say he just had sex, but he looks too angry for that. Maybe he fought with a raccoon.

“What are you doing?” he barks.

“Walking.”

“Get in.” He stops and shoves open the door. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Seems like a nice place.” The houses are big. The lawns are bigger. Besides, his brothers had no problem ditching me on this road the other night. “The most danger I’ve encountered this morning is a big bad man trying to lure me into his truck. Good thing I know better.”

A reluctant smile lurks on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t have any candy or ice cream, so by default I should be considered safe.”

“Nah, just a shitty kidnapper.”

“You coming or are we going to block the Sunday traffic all day?”

I glance behind him and see another car coming. Why the hell not? It’s a short trip to the house.

Gideon doesn’t say anything during the drive, only rubs his arm a couple of times. A few minutes later, he stops in front of the entrance and puts the car in park.

“Thanks for the ride, Gideon.” When he doesn’t follow me inside, I glance over and call out to the SUV. “Not coming?”

He looks up at the house. “No. I need a swim. A long one.”

Then he rubs his arm again like there’s dirt on it that he simply can’t get off. He catches me watching him and frowns.

I want to ask if there’s anything wrong but the
no trespassing
look that shutters over his face makes me swallow back the words. I give him a worried look instead, an invitation.
I’ve seen shit
, I try to telegraph. I only get a clenched jaw in return.

O
n my bed
is another note from Callum. I climb onto the cloud of pink and white and curl up next to the headboard to read.

S
orry
about last night’s dinner. Won’t happen again. Durand will drive you to school in the morning. Let him know the time.

P
.S
. Your car is coming. Wanted to get exactly the right one and the only one with the correct color was in California.

O
h God
, please don’t let it be pink. I think I’ll die if I’m supposed to drive Malibu Barbie’s dream car.

I bolt upright from the bed. I can’t believe those words even passed through my head. A car is a car. I should be grateful just to be driving one. Who cares what color it is? If it’s pink, I’ll get down and kiss the bubble-gum-colored fender.

Jeez. One weekend and I’m already turning into a spoiled brat.

T
he next morning
, I’m up at dawn. I’m not going to repeat my mistakes from the party. I push aside all the pretty shoes that Brooke bought and find some white canvas sneakers. I pair them with skinny jeans and a T-shirt.

I nibble on my lip. Do I leave the backpack here or take it with me? If I take it with me, some punk ass kid might steal it. If I leave it, one of the Royals might go through it. I decide to take it with me, although carrying around ten large makes me feel paranoid and jumpy.

I run into Callum in the kitchen—he’s leaving for work, and he’s surprised to find me up so early. I lie and tell him I’m meeting Valerie for breakfast, and he looks so excited I made a friend that I think he’s going to pee his pants.

After chugging down a cup of coffee, I meet Durand outside the house two hours before school starts. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me.”

He merely gives a dip of his head.

I have him drop me off at a bakery that’s just minutes away from the prep school, and the moment I step inside, I’m greeted by the most heavenly smell. Behind the counter is a woman about my mom’s age, with wheat-blond hair swept up in a tight, ballet-style bun.

“Hi there, sweetie, what can I get for you?” she asks with her hands poised over the register.

“I’m Ella Harper and I’d like to apply for the assistant job. The ad said there were school friendly hours? I go to Astor Park.”

“Hmm, a scholarship student?” I don’t correct her because it’s mostly true. I’m a Callum Royal scholarship beneficiary. I hold my breath as she inspects me. “Do you have any experience baking?”

“None,” I admit, “But I’m a quick learner and I’ll work harder than anyone else you’ve ever hired. I don’t mind long days or early mornings or late nights.”

She purses her lips. “I’m not a fan of hiring high school students. But…we could give it a try. Say a week. You’ll have to serve your peers. Will that be a problem?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Some of those Astor Park kids can be a real handful.”

Translation: the school is full of assholes. 

“Again, the clientele is not a problem for me.”

She sighs. “All right. I really do need another hand. If you show up for the next six days on time and work all your scheduled hours, the job is yours.” I flash her a smile, and she slaps a hand to her heart. “Honey, you should have smiled before. It completely transforms your face. In fact, the more you smile, the more tips you’ll get. Remember that.”

Smiling is not my natural state. In fact, it kind of hurts. My face is so unused to it but I keep smiling because I want this nice lady to like me.

“I start baking at four but I won’t expect you until five-thirty. I’ll need you every morning during the week—you’ll work until classes start. And on Thursdays and Fridays you’ll need to come back after school and work until close, which is eight p.m. Will that interfere with any after-school activities?”

“Nope.”

“Not even Friday?”

“I’m more interested in this job than anything the school has going on Friday nights.”

She gives me another smile. “All right. Pick out a scone then and I’ll make you up a coffee. My name’s Lucy, by the way. And the rush starts in about an hour. You might change your mind after you see what a madhouse this can be.”

L
ucy is right
—the bakery is jam-packed, but I don’t mind the rush. Bustling behind the counter and serving baked goods for two hours distracts me from worrying about what will happen when I get to school.

I feel weird wearing a uniform, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon. I notice the other girls at school have found ways to sexy up their attire. Like Savannah said, skirt lengths have been altered, and a lot of the girls leave nearly half their shirt buttons undone so you can see the lacy tops of their bras. I’m not interested in drawing attention to myself, so my hem stays at my knee and my shirt stays buttoned almost to the collar.

I have precalc, Entrepreneurial Studies, and English in the morning. Valerie isn’t in any of those classes, but Savannah is in all three, and Easton is in the English class, but he sits in the back of the room with his buddies and doesn’t say a word to me. I don’t care. I kind of hope he ignores me all semester.

Being ignored seems to be the theme of the day. Nobody says a word to me except my teachers, and after making several attempts at smiling at kids in the hallway and getting no response, I eventually give up and pretend they don’t exist either.

It isn’t until lunch that I finally see a familiar face. “Harper! Get your butt over here.” Valerie waves me over from the salad bar in the cafeteria.

Actually,
cafeteria
might not be the right word to describe this cavernous room. The walls are wood paneled, the chairs are leather upholstered, and the food area looks like the buffet setup of a luxury hotel. At the far edge of the room are endless sets of French doors, all open and spilling onto an outdoor eating area for students who want to sit outside when the weather’s nice. It’s not even the end of September, so the sun is shining and I suppose we could sit outside, but I spot Jordan Carrington and her friends out there, as well as Reed and Easton, and opt to stay inside.

Valerie and I load our trays with food and find an empty table in the corner of the room. I glance around, realizing that all the students look older. “No freshmen?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Their lunch is an hour earlier.”

“Gotcha.” I stick my fork in my pasta and keep looking around. Nobody meets my eyes. It’s like Valerie and I don’t exist.

“Get used to your cloak of invisibility,” Valerie says knowingly. “Actually, you should wear it like a badge of honor. That just means the rich bitches don’t care enough to torment you.”

“What’s their idea of torment?”

“The usual. Spray-painting rude shit on your locker, tripping you in the hall, trashing you online. Jordan and her minions aren’t very creative.”

“So she’s the female-equivalent of Reed, huh?”

“Yeppers. And if it were up to her, she’d be on his arm every day and screwing him every night, but alas, my poor cousin can’t seem to land her man.”

I snicker. “How is it you know everything about everyone?”

Valerie shrugs. “I watch. I listen. I remember.”

“All right. Then tell me more about the Royals.” I feel awkward asking, but after all my run-ins with the Royal brothers, I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to arm myself with ammo against them.

My new friend groans. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for one of them already.”

“Ew. Never.” I force myself not to think about the way my heart pounds whenever Reed Royal enters a room. I’m not crushing on the guy, dammit. He’s an asshole and I want nothing to do with him. “I just want to know what I’m up against.”

She relaxes. “Okay. Well. I already told you about Easton and Claire. One twin has a girlfriend, the other is a slut like his big brothers. Reed, I’m not sure about. 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—trust me, my cousin wasn’t happy about
that
hookup.”

“What else? Scandals? Rumors?” I feel like a detective questioning a suspect.

“Their dad has a trashy girlfriend. I think that’s been going on for a couple years.”

The memory of Callum and Brooke’s dinner shenanigans flashes in my mind. “I know all about the girlfriend,” I say with a sigh.

“Okay…what else…their mom died a while ago.” Valerie lowers her voice. “From an overdose.”

My breath hitches. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. It was all over the news and in all the papers. I guess she’d been prescribed sleeping pills or something, but it interfered with some other medication she was taking. I don’t really know the details, but I think her doctor was under investigation for screwing up the prescription.”

Despite myself, my heart aches for the Royals. There are pictures of their mom on the fireplace mantel in the living room. She was a pretty brunette with kind-looking eyes. Every time Callum mentions her in passing, grief fills his eyes, which tells me he must have truly loved her.

I wonder if she was close to her sons, and I suddenly feel really bad for Reed and his brothers. Nobody should ever have to lose their mom.

Since I’ve tapped out Valerie’s Royal knowledge, we change the subject and I tell her about my new job. She promises to come by after school twice a week to annoy me, and we spend the rest of the lunch period laughing and getting to know each other more. By the time we drop off our trays, I’ve decided I’m definitely keeping her as a friend.

“I can’t believe we have
zero
classes together,” she complains as we leave the cafeteria. “What the hell, girl? Who forced you to sign up for all those math and science and business classes? You should be taking Life Skills with me. We’re learning to apply for credit cards.”

“I chose them. I’m here to learn, not waste time.”

“Nerd.”

“Brat.”

We part ways outside my chemistry class. We already exchanged numbers at lunch, and she promises to text me later, then flounces off.

When I enter the chem lab, the teacher rises from his desk as if he’s been waiting for me. He’s hobbit-sized, with a bushy beard that looks like it’s trying to devour his face. He introduces himself as Mr. Neville.

I try not to look at the other students, but my gaze has already picked out Easton at one of the tables. He’s the only student without anyone sitting beside him. Shit. That’s not good.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ella,” Mr. Neville says. “I peeked at your transcript earlier and was impressed by your previous science grades.”

I shrug. Math and science come easy for me. I know I got my talent for dance from my mother, but since she could barely calculate a tip percentage in her head when we went out to eat, I always wondered if I got my aptitude for numbers from my father. Steve, the Navy SEAL slash pilot slash multi-millionaire.

“Anyway, Mr. Royal contacted the headmaster this weekend and requested we pair you up with Easton this semester.” Neville lowers his voice. “Easton could learn some discipline, and it makes sense for you two to be lab partners. You’ll be able to study together at home.”

Oh joy. I stifle a sigh and head for Easton’s table, where I drop my backpack under the desk and slip into the chair next to his. He doesn’t look happy to see me.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” I mutter back. “This was your father’s idea.”

He stares straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Of course it was.”

Unlike my morning classes, chemistry seems to drag on forever, but that’s probably because Easton sits there scowling at me for ninety-nine percent of the time. For the other one percent of it, I get a cocky grin from him as he leans back in his chair and orders me to mix the solution we need to grow the crystals.

The second the bell rings, I’m out of my chair and eager to escape my sulking “brother.”

I race out of the classroom, ready to get to my next class, but then I remember I need to make a quick stop at my locker to grab my textbook. All the courses I’m taking are advanced and come with thousand-page texts. I wasn’t able to fit them all in my backpack.

Fortunately, my locker is nearby and so is the World History classroom.

Unfortunately, Jordan Carrington and her friends round the corner before I can reach my locker.

The four of them stop and smirk when they notice me. None of them say hello. Whatever. I don’t say hello either, and I try not to feel self-conscious as I walk past them. They might be bitches, but they’re beautiful bitches. Every guy in the hallway is checking them out, including Easton, who lazily strides out of chem class and walks over to the girls.

The group stops by the locker bank, and Jordan whispers something in Easton’s ear, her manicured nails resting on his upper arm.

He shrugs, causing his navy-blue blazer to tighten across his broad shoulders. He’s undeniably the hottest guy in a five-mile radius, though the two guys who join him aren’t hard to look at either.

I ignore them all as I reach my locker and spin the combination lock. Two more classes and then school will be over and the stares will stop. I’ll go back to the mansion and do my homework, then go to sleep. Keep myself busy and block out the bullshit. That’s my new motto and I’m sticking to it.

I’m relieved when the lock clicks on the first try. I wasn’t sure I got the combination, but the locker door opens easily and—

A mountain of garbage falls out.

I’m so startled I squeak out loud, then curse myself for it. Laughter rings out behind me, and I close my eyes, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside.

I don’t want them to see me blushing.

I don’t want them to know that this stinking, heaping mess of trash at my feet has affected me in any way.

I kick a stray banana peel and breathe through my mouth so the stench of rotting food doesn’t make my eyes water. The floor is littered with even more disgusting items than the spoiled produce—used napkins, tissues, a bloody tampon…

I will not cry.

The laughter doesn’t die down. I ignore it. I just scoop up the World History textbook from the bottom shelf of my luxury-sized locker. Then I flick away the wad of crumbled newspapers that’s sticking to the latch and slam the door shut.

When I turn around, all eyes are on me. I only seek out one pair—Jordan’s, almond-brown and gleaming evilly. She gives me a regal little wave.

I square my shoulders and tuck my book under my arm. A tall guy with brown curls snickers as I start to walk. Oh my God. There’s a sanitary pad stuck to my shoe. I swallow my embarrassment, kick the pad away, and keep walking.

Easton wears a bored expression as I approach.

I pause in front of Jordan, one eyebrow arched, my own smirk forming on my lips. “Is that all you’ve got, Carrington? I’m trash? Tsk-tsk. I’m disappointed in your lack of creativity.”

Her eyes flash, but I’m already sauntering past her like I have no care in the world.