Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
LEO
Being with Jade felt like standing at the edge of a cliff—reckless, electric, and completely addictive.
She didn’t chase. She didn’t beg. She wasn’t impressed by wealth, legacy, or the Holt name. She liked me for who I was, not what I could offer. And damn if that didn’t make me want to offer her everything.
So when Bianca cornered me after Calc IV, pressed against the lockers in her too-tight cashmere and classic French perfume cloud, it was the fastest a man’s mood had ever gone from zero to get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she purred, one hand trailing up my chest, curling her fingers around the perfect knot in my navy silk tie. “Too quiet.”
“Maybe I’ve been happy,” I said flatly, stepping back.
She followed, her heels clicking like a threat. “With her?” Her mouth twisted like she’d tasted something bitter. “Come on, Leo. We both know how these scholarship girls end up. Clingy. Embarrassing. Unfit.”
My abs tightened—not with attraction. With revulsion.
“I’m going to Paris this weekend,” she added breezily. “Daddy’s yacht. Dinner under the Eiffel Tower. Front-row at Balmain. And a private suite at Le Meurice with your name on it.”
Her fingers slipped under my blazer, gliding across my ribs.
I felt nothing.
Until—
There she was.
Jade.
Coming down the marble stairwell across the rotunda. Hair loose, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. No designer label plaid skirt in sight. Just crisp navy blue pleats and a slouchy sweater. And yet she stole the air from the hallway the second she appeared.
My girl.
My queen.
I grinned.
“You’re wasting your breath, Bianca.”
“What—?”
I brushed past her like she was invisible, my stride already lengthening.
“Leo!” she hissed after me.
But I didn’t look back.
Every step I took erased her perfume. Drowned out her hiss. Drove me closer to the only thing I actually wanted.
Jade saw me coming.
Her mouth twitched like she didn’t quite trust the smile playing at the corners of her lips.
So I gave her more.
Full smile. Dimple on display. Like I’d just spotted the moon and knew it belonged to me.
When I reached her, I didn’t care who watched. Didn’t care what names they called her behind our backs.
I slid a hand around her waist, pulled her in, and kissed the corner of her mouth.
“Hey,” I murmured, low and rough, just for her.
She arched a brow. “Bianca looked… clingy.”
“She’s delusional,” I said. “I’m already spoken for.”
“Lucky girl,” she whispered.
“Lucky me.”
We walked away together as jaws dropped and whispers rose behind us.
And for the first time in a long damn time, I felt like I wasn’t pretending.
I knew it was coming the second the butler told me she was in the solarium.
The solarium.
Not her office, not the drawing room, not even the upstairs library. The solarium was where she staged social executions over sparkling water and those tiny biscotti no one actually eats.
When I stepped in, she didn’t even look up. Just turned another page in her European fashion magazine and sipped something green that probably cost more than most people's rent.
“Mother,” I said, bracing for impact.
“Leo,” she replied, eyes still scanning the page.
I waited.
And waited.
She finally turned her face toward me—gorgeous in that surgically timeless way. Her skin never wrinkled, only tightened. Her expression was bored perfection. But her eyes?
Sharp. Cold. Calculating.
“So,” she said, folding the magazine shut with a graceful flick. “I’ve been hearing things.”
There it was.
I played it cool, slid into the chair across from her, even crossed my legs like I was some laid-back Armani ad. “You know how it is. People love to talk.”
She cocked her head slightly. “About you dating a scholarship girl.”
I smirked. “Jealous nonsense. I got paired with some townie for a group project. Bianca’s just pissed because her popularity’s dropping faster than her GPA.”
Her perfectly arched brow lifted a fraction. “I always did find Bianca a bit too… pedestrian.”
Wait—what?
“I beg your pardon?” I said, stunned.
She smiled. “Just because she summered in Nantucket and her family has a hyphenated last name doesn’t mean she’s elite. Her mother was a pageant runner-up and her father made his money selling luxury RVs to reality stars. It’s gauche.”
I blinked. “You’ve been pretending to like her for three years.”
“Of course I did,” she said breezily. “The poor girl would cling to you like a designer knockoff if I didn’t. And now that she’s whining about some ‘townie,’ I can finally shut her mother up at book club this week.”
What in the Newport high-society hell was happening?
“You’re… happy Bianca’s miserable?” I asked slowly.
She smiled again, baring immaculate veneers. “Darling, you’re my son. If someone’s going to make girls cry, it better be because you’re irresistible, not because I picked the wrong little debutante for you.”
I leaned back, watching her swirl her green juice like it was a martini.
She hadn’t said Jade’s name. Hadn’t mentioned her lack of pedigree. Hadn’t demanded I break it off.
Yet.
But I knew better than to think this was acceptance. This was amusement. A game.
Jade and I had barely been a thing for two weeks. I hadn’t even told my mother I liked her—really liked her—and already the whispers were clawing at our edges.
I hated that I’d lied.
But the second I even thought about telling her the truth, I saw how it would go.
She’d schedule a luncheon with the Dean, call in favors from the board, maybe “reallocate” Jade’s scholarship behind closed doors.
I’d seen her destroy families with a single phone call—all for less than this.
And I couldn’t let her get anywhere near Jade.
Not when I was finally figuring out what it felt like to want someone for more than just fun.
Not when Jade looked at me like I was real—even when she hated me for it.
So I played the part.
I let my mother believe I was still the prince of Royal Oaks.
And deep down, I made a silent vow:
If anyone came for Jade—even her—I’d burn this legacy to the ground.
I as upstairs trying to escape my parents when I got her text:
GN. Miss you. Sweet dreams.
Are you tired?
Gitanilla: Not Really.
I’ll be over in 15. Sneak out.
I hadn’t even gotten the damn vehicle in park before Jade slipped inside like the wind carried her in.
Tight black leggings that hugged her legs like they were tailored to ruin me.
A Royal Oaks hoodie too big for her frame, but somehow made her look even smaller, more stealable.
Her hair was down—long, loose, and whipping slightly in the ocean breeze like some slow-motion scene from a movie that would never leave my head.
And her scent? Beach salt, mint chapstick, and something wild and female I couldn’t name but wanted bottled just for me.
She barely got the door closed before I grabbed her. One hand in that silky hair. The other cupping her cheek.
I kissed her like I needed it to breathe.
Messy. Deep. All-in.
Her fingers tangled in the front of my sweatshirt like she didn’t want to let go either.
When I finally pulled back, she blinked up at me like I’d just yanked her from a dream. Maybe I had. I didn’t say anything. I just grinned, then reached for the gearshift.
“Where are we going?” she asked, breathless.
I looked over, and yeah—my heart did a full somersault. Stupid muscle had no chill when it came to her. “To my spot,” I said simply. “Trust me.”
Ten minutes later, I parked at the top of the bluff. The air was colder here, crisp with the scent of sea grass and crashing surf. The stars overhead didn’t twinkle. They roared. Exploded in silent arcs across the sky, shooting meteors cutting through black like the world’s quietest fireworks.
I opened the back gate of the SUV, threw down the blanket I’d stashed earlier, and slid in. Jade hesitated just a second before joining me.
She curled into my side. Like she belonged there. Like I could finally exhale.
We lay in silence, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her waist. Her hand found mine, fingers laced. I pulled her closer, chin resting on the top of her head.
“I almost didn’t text you,” she whispered.
“Good thing you did,” I murmured. “I was already halfway to your place.”
She smiled into my sweatshirt, and I pressed a kiss to her temple.
Minutes passed like hours. Or maybe hours passed like minutes. I didn’t care. I had time now. With her.
But I couldn’t keep lying.
“She asked,” I said quietly. “My mom.”
Jade stilled. “About me?”
I nodded. “I told her it was just a group project. Bianca had been squawking about us, probably hoping to blow it up before it even started.”
Her head tilted up, eyes searching mine.
“I didn’t deny you because I’m ashamed,” I said quickly. “I denied you because my mother ruins everything good. If she knew I was serious about someone—especially someone who doesn’t come with a pedigree and a prep trust—she’d destroy it. Not because of you. Because of control.”
Jade was quiet. Thoughtful.
I went on. “I’ve never really dated someone for real feelings before. Not like this. Not where I care what they think. Not where I’d throw a punch over it or fight off every entitled clone in that school just to keep it.”
Her voice was soft. “What was Bianca?”
I exhaled. “Convenience. Familiarity. Two bored kids checking off high school boxes. She wanted the last name, the image. I wanted to shut my parents up.”
Jade nodded, then shifted until she was half on top of me. Her cheek against my chest again.
“My parents aren’t like yours,” she said eventually. “They’re good people. Married forever. My dad works in IT, my mom’s in admin. They make it work. We weren’t ever poor. But we’re… average.”
I ran my fingers through her hair.
“And you think I care about that?” I asked, softly but firmly.
“I think you were raised to care about that.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But then I met you. And now I don’t give a damn what I was raised to do. All I know is when you walked into that bonfire in those cutoff shorts with that smart mouth and that look in your eyes like you’d already survived the worst—that’s when I started thinking different.”
A shooting star sliced through the sky.
She leaned up just enough to kiss me again. Slower this time. Sweeter.
This wasn’t about lust.
It was about relief.
About finally letting someone in without having to perform, posture, or pose.
When we pulled apart, she whispered, “Thank you for coming tonight.”
I kissed her forehead. “You’re the only thing worth showing up for.”
And for the rest of the night, we just lay there. Spooning under stars, counting meteors, and pretending that nothing else existed but her heartbeat in my ear and the crash of waves in the distance.