Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1) (10 page)

Another score for the away team. Kind of. Because I’m the only one who knows just how close I am to bursting into tears.

I
make
it through the rest of the day without crying, but part of me wants to go all
Carrie
on these kids until they look back at trash in the locker as the easiest day of their lives.

Valerie texts me during class.
Are U OK? Heard abt locker. Jordan is an ass.

I’m fine
, I respond.
It was stupid and like u said. No creativity. Trash? Did she steal that from a Disney show?

Ha! Don’t say that tho. She’ll B forced 2 think of something worse

2 late.

I’ll throw flowers on ur grave!

Gee thanks. I tuck the phone away when the teacher glances in my direction. Once the fancy chimes ring to let us know class is over, I shove everything into my pack and hoof it outside, hoping that Durand is waiting and I can escape to the princess bedroom. The pink and white is growing on me.

The parking lot is filled with noise, people, and expensive cars, but no Durand.

“Harper.” Valerie appears over my right shoulder. “Your ride isn’t here?”

“No, I don’t see him.”

She clicks her tongue sympathetically. “I’d offer you a ride but I don’t think you want to get in the same car as Jordan.”

“You’d be right about that.”

“You should go, though. Once school is out, it can get rough.”

“Out here in broad daylight?” That’s alarming.

Valerie’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “Jordan has moments of cunning. Don’t underestimate her.”

I tighten my grip on the backpack and give myself an internal slap for carrying around so much cash. There has to be a place in the Royal pile of bricks where I can hide this.

“Why does she get away with it? Savannah Montgomery told me that everyone here is special. So why is Jordan the leader if everyone has something unique to offer?”

“Connections,” Valerie replies bluntly. “The Carringtons aren’t part of the ten-figure club like the Royals, but they know everyone. They’ve done business with celebs, royalty. Jordan’s aunt on her dad’s side is married to some Italian count. We actually have to refer to her as Lady Perino if she shows up for Christmas.”

“That’s unreal.”

“So Jordan is, by extension—” She breaks off. “Hold on. Here she comes.”

I brace myself as Jordan strolls toward us. Like all alphas, she has a pack trailing behind her. They look like a toothpaste commercial—acres of white shining teeth and long straight hair swishing behind them.

“If it makes you feel any better, Jordan’s hair has a lot of wave to it and she has to spend an hour flat-ironing it every morning,” Valerie mutters under her breath.

Doesn’t Valerie have any decent shit on Jordan? Because
she spends too much time on her hair
really isn’t a great putdown.

“I’m feeling really superior now,” I say dryly.

Valerie gives me a quirky smile and slides her hand around my arm in moral support.

Jordan halts about two feet from me and makes a couple of obvious sniffs with her nose. “You smell,” she informs me. “And it’s not from the trash in your locker. It’s just you.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I guess I’ll start showering twice a day instead of just once,” I say sweetly, but inside I’m worried, because what if I really do smell? That would be about just as bad as toting around a used maxi pad on my shoe.

She sighs and flips her hair over one shoulder. “It’s the type of smell no amount of showering will ever wash away. You see, you’re a casual.”

I look at Valerie with a question. She rolls her eyes in response.

“Okay then,” I reply cheerfully. “Good to know.” Jordan wants me to look stupid, so the best I can do is not get drawn into her game. But my non-reaction doesn’t turn her away. She just keeps shooting her mouth, probably because she likes hearing herself talk.

“Casuals will always reek of desperation.”

Well, she’s got me there. That’s pretty much the perfume of a strip club.

I force myself to shrug. “I don’t know what
casual
means in Bitch, but I’m assuming it’s bad. What I don’t get is why you think I give a rat’s ass about your opinion of me. The world is really big, Jordan. You throwing trash in my locker or calling me names isn’t going to matter in two years. Hell, it hardly matters today.”

Her mouth drops open and Valerie turns her face into my arm to smother a laugh.

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.