39. Juliette
JULIETTE
P reston Ascott is everything I expected him to be.
Smart, polite, gentlemanly, and just as handsome as he was back in high school.
He opens car doors and pushes in my chair when we arrive at Dante’s—the most renowned restaurant in our town, coincidentally owned by Paxton—and his eyes don’t stray from mine for a single second that we’re together.
It’s nice.
In any other universe, I’d be having a good time. But I can’t help the tinge of bitterness coating my tongue, knowing how he left me high and dry in the past, and that my parents still put us together like I’m cattle to be sold.
And that I’d rather be here with someone else.
But patience is a virtue, and if there’s one thing all those etiquette lessons taught me, it’s that waiting for the opportune time to make a move is paramount for success. For now, I’m playing the part.
I take a sip of my wine—the kind that Preston ordered for me when we sat down without asking what I’d like—and stare at him.
“Do you really want to date me again?” I interrupt whatever he’s saying.
He stops, his blue eyes sparking with surprise before he clears his throat. “Are you not having a nice time?”
“No, I am,” I reply. “Even though you’ve never apologized for the absolute prick way you broke up with me.”
He grimaces. “I was a kid, Jules?—”
I cut him off. “I just wonder if you’re here because you want to be, or if it’s because our family considers this political foreplay.”
Understanding flashes over his face, and he gives a small smile before shaking his head. “ You don’t want to be here.”
“Not really, no.”
His lips purse, and he leans in, his hand covering mine on top of the table.
I look down at it, waiting to feel… something . But I don’t.
Slowly, I move my hand back until he’s not touching me at all.
“My parents didn’t put me up to anything,” he replies. “I’m a grown man who makes the decisions I want, when I want. And I want to take you out. I…I’ve missed you, Jules. Is that so bad?”
My shoulders relax. “No, that’s not bad.”
I do not want to date him again. In fact, thinking back, I’m not entirely sure if it was me who decided to pair up with him in the first place, or if it was something my mom whispered in my ear, even all those years ago.
But I can’t help thinking maybe he’s stuck in this world, underneath his own family’s thumb the same way I am, despite him saying the opposite.
“If you have a horrible time and hate me, I promise I won’t push things. No matter how much your dad does scare me.” He chuckles. “But I want you to want to be here, Jules. Remember all the fun we used to have?”
Not really.
But those aren’t the words I latch onto. “Why does my dad scare you?”
He looks at me, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You just said, ‘no matter how much your dad does scare me,’ and I’m just wondering why that is? I mean, your dad is the governor. Why would mine be of any concern?” I rest my chin in my hand and flutter my lashes at him.
He takes a sip of his scotch and chuckles uncomfortably. “I mean, you have to know your dad is in bed with dangerous people.”
“Mm. Please, keep telling me about what I know.”
“You’re still so feisty.” He grins. “Give us a chance, sweetheart. If we happen to hit it off again and make our parents happy in the process…is that really such a bad thing?”
“Preston, don’t call me sweetheart , or my six-inch heels will end up in your lap. And it won’t be pleasant.”
“Sorry, old habits.” He puts his hands up like he’s waving a white flag. “Tell me about wanting to move out. I hear you’re wanting your own place?”
I tilt my head, keeping the smile on my face. “How did you…?”
He laughs. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are people not supposed to know about that? Your mom told me when we spoke the other day, and I just assumed it was public knowledge.”
A sinking feeling hits me in the gut.
It makes me uneasy knowing everyone is talking behind my back.
Plus, the reminder of just how much my mother truly likes Preston, and how in her pocket he is even after all these years, hits me in the face like an open-palm slap.
“What?” he asks, his grin dropping. “What did I say?”
Shaking my head, I swallow and glance down at my lap before looking back up at him. “Nothing. It’s just…you know how I feel about my mom.”
He’s no stranger to my tense relationship with her; he was often the in-between for us even back in high school and had to listen to me rant in the passenger seat of his car for hours after she did something that pissed me off.
“You’re still giving her a hard time, huh?” He chuckles.
I bristle, setting down my wine glass a little too hard. “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it.”
“She just wants the best for you, Jules. One day you’ll realize that. She loves you.”
“My mother loves herself,” I correct. “Everything else is an obligation.”
Preston drums his fingers on the table, looking at me like I’m a child who’s amusing him instead of listening to the gravity of my words. “She said you were still like this.”
I grit my teeth, something hot and fiery unfurling in my chest. “Spoiler alert, this is who I am. Maybe you should go fuck her instead.”
He frowns. “Watch your mouth. I’m just saying .”
I breathe deeply through my nose, my fingernails pressing crescents into my palm.
“Mm,” I hum, picking up my wine to take a sip.
Mainly to give my hands something to do so I don’t reach across the table and throttle him to death.
“Well, considering I’ve only seen her a grand total of three times since I’ve been back from college, just saying might not be a winning move on your part. ”
Preston grimaces, and then he leans forward, and here comes his damn hand again, reaching out to grasp the top of mine.
Why does he keep doing that?
He winks, and I imagine clawing his eyes from his face. “I’m on your side. Promise.”
Pressing my fingertips to my temple, I shake my head again. “Right. Of course you are. Would you excuse me? I need the ladies’ room.”
He nods and takes his hand back, watching me closely. “I’ll order us dessert.”
“Great,” I say flatly.
My stomach is reeling when I walk to the restrooms, trying to find the balance between being full of decorum, the way I’m supposed to be, and knowing that yet another person has taken what I say and shoved it into a box of “how cute, of course she’s saying this,” the same way that he always has.
I move into the single-stall restroom, walking to the sink and pressing the back of my hand to my mouth to hold in the scream.
My lungs feel like they’re being squeezed by fists commandeered by my mother, and maybe it’s because, deep down, I know this is the future they’ve always planned for me.
Mapped out, airtight, and I’ve just been living in a carefully crafted delusion of my own making.
Pretending that if I want what they want, if I perform well enough, it will start to feel like freedom.
I pull my phone from my purse and bypass Felicity’s text asking if I’ve cut off Preston’s dick yet, and bring up the group chat with my brothers.
The Calloway Kings (and Queen)
Me:
Can one of you come save me from this date?
Alex:
You’re on a date?
Me:
Yes. I’m at Dante’s, and I just need to leave. Come get me, PLEASE.
Paxton:
Just call the car.
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. Of course, Paxton would think it’s that easy. I can’t just call a car to take me away from the date that our parents put together. They pay the drivers.
Me:
Pax, what’s it like to be permanently lodged up Mom and Dad’s ass all the time? I can’t call the driver. I’m trying to make a grand escape.
Alex:
What’s in it for me?
Me:
I’m not above begging.
Alex:
And I’m not above bribing.
I chew on the corner of my lip.
Me:
…what do you want?
Alex:
Haven’t decided yet. Let’s make it an IOU. Give me twenty.
Sighing in relief, I slip my phone back into my clutch and look in the mirror, running a hand down the front of my cocktail dress.
I’m just about to walk out the door when it pushes back against me, and I gasp, the apology on my lips for almost running into someone.
But before I can say anything, Roman’s face fills my vision, his eyes stormy and his jaw set.
My jaw drops, and my stomach flips. “What are you?—?”
“Shut up,” he demands, walking into the restroom and flicking the lock back on the door behind him.
My heart thumps erratically in my chest as I gaze at him and then the door and then back again. “What are you doing here?”
He laughs humorlessly, his hands ripping through the roots of his hair. “Is he your man now? Are you with him, Juliette?”
“Is he my…?” My eyes widen, satisfaction curling like ribbons through me. “You’re jealous.”
He gives me a grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just wondering if you two were together when you were begging me to fuck you with my fingers.”
I cross my arms, my eyes narrowing. I’m not going to sit here and tell him what he wants to hear just to soothe that giant ego of his. If he wants to believe the worst about me, some preconceived notion like everyone else seems to have, then who am I to stop him?
But it hurts he’d think that of me at all.
And maybe it’s because I’m already on my last goddamn nerve, and maybe it’s because everyone and their brother seems to know everything about me based on assumptions and what other people tell them, but I’m tired of defending myself against something I didn’t even do.
I lift my chin. “Who I’m with is none of your business.”
He chuckles darkly, but it’s a humorless sound. He points at me. “Wrong answer, Little Rose. You are my fucking business. Do you want to know why?”
Swallowing harshly, I don’t reply.
“Because no matter how many times we say that we’re nothing to each other, I can’t get you out of my goddamn head.” He slams his hand against his chest. “Can’t get you out of here, either, so fuck me, I guess, right?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know what you want from me.”