Chapter 10
TEN
HANNAH
Trust me, you can’t handle what I really want.
Rye’s words haunt me the rest of the day, all the way back to my not-humble-at-all abode.
It used to feel like a castle, stunning and romantic. It’s even got vine walls, turrets, sculptured hedges and a fountain in the driveway. Despite all my favourite features, it's more like a cage. One with a hell of a pool.
After today, I'm actually relieved to be home. At least here I don't have to worry about running into him. He’s toying with me. Using my body when he wants. Claiming what’s mine when he pleases.
And I keep letting him get away with it.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, my shoulders sink. It’s clear I’m way overdue for a facial. It's clear this arrogant Crown stresses me out. So tonight’s plan is to head straight to my room for a bath bomb, my silk robe, and three back-to-back eclairs from Chez Antoine.
Extra cars sit in the driveway as I park my Porsche next to mom’s Rover. My parents are known for their frequent gatherings. Galas, dinners, “very important business meetings” with fine wine and imported charcuterie. But I’m so not in the mood. Avoiding their company is best.
Laughter and conversation drift from the living room as I step into the foyer.
“Welcome home, Miss Hannah," Carrie greets me in her usual polo and blue apron, reaching for my things. She opens her mouth to speak again before I lift my finger to my lips. She nods, and a weight lifts. I won’t have to pass my parents on the way to my room.
Slipping off my heels stops them from clicking against the polished marble as I make my way to the grand stairs. I’m halfway up when my phone vibrates.
Reminder: Interview w/ IOU Paris: 2 a.m.
Outside of escaping the cops, the only silver lining to this day is landing another interview, even if it’s in the wee hours.
It’s in France, so if I get it, which I will, that means leaving The Hill and my mother behind for a little bit.
It’ll be hard. A big change I haven’t processed.
But after Marisol’s betrayal, I don’t have much of a choice this late in the semester.
Another notification hits my screen.
Ember: u gave Ryung ur lake house?
I’m quick to respond.
Hannah: Beats going to jail
I should’ve known Rye wouldn’t help me out of kindness. He’s always bargaining. Plotting. Scheming.
Ember: Marisol’s parents got her out
Ember: but what’s really going on with you and Ryung?
My stomach twists as bits of the past week roll through my head. The glass. The fire. The way his sharp touch makes me sink into his body.
“Oh, Hannah, you’re here.”
I jump, a familiar voice coming from behind me.
Turning around, Michelle Nam stands at our front door. She has this look of disgust on her face, eyeing my outfit as if I’m vermin in my own home. So much for staying discreet.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her, not wanting to relive my mortification. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Hannah?” My mom’s surprised voice follows all the way from the living room. I try to hustle up the stairs, but it’s too late. “Hannah!” Her voice, much louder now, stops me in my path.
When I turn around, my mother looks much better than she did the last time I saw her. On the floor under my father’s threat. A sapphire wrap dress adorns her skinny frame. Louboutins. Bulgari earrings. The perfect Paradise wife.
“I'm heading to my room,” I repeat, wanting nothing more in this moment than to disappear.
“You can’t be here,” my mother says.
My brows knit, turning to face her. “I live here.” It’s wild that I even have to say that.
“We have guests.” Carrie ushers Michelle into the next room as my mother climbs the steps to meet me. She lowers her voice, glancing at the front door. “Your father will be home soon to be with them. Don’t let him find you in the same space as Michelle.”
“No one will even know I’m here.”
“Hannah, this isn’t a suggestion. Leave. Now. You’ve already made things uncomfortable.”
I blink. “I’m sorry I made someone else uncomfortable in my home, but Ma, I just want to sleep.” I start heading up the steps, but I’m stopped when she grabs my arm. Looking back, my eyes narrow when I see the anger in hers. “Are you kidding?”
“Hannah, please.”
The foyer fills with cold air as the front door opens.
“Hannah?” My father’s voice rolls through the space.
When my eyes move from my mother to him, he glares at me, handing his coat to Carrie. He looks at my mom and says something in Spanish before addressing me again. “What are you doing here?”
Am I going insane?
“Trying to go to my room," I repeat for another time as I finally pull from my mother’s hold.
“No. Richard will be here, and you can’t stay.” My father shakes his head like he chose the wrong company to invest in. Like ‘I just won’t do.’
“And where should I go?” I move down the steps, trying to catch his gaze in hopes he remembers I’m his freaking kid. “This is home.”
When his eyes finally meet mine, they’re glossed over. Red. “I pay the bills. Leave.”
“I’m not some insubordinate employee you can just get rid of.
” It’s like he doesn’t even hear me as he looks around him, more concerned about who hears this interaction.
“I’m your daughter. Where do you expect me to go?
” My voice gets louder, emphasizing my words.
“I live here.” I thought the comforts of home would be good while in school, but staying on campus might have been the better option.
Proving my point, my father grabs my wrist, tighter than my mother did.
“Carlos!” Mother calls.
“Stop!” Wriggling doesn’t help as he drags me to the open door. My feet stumble over the other, my father’s grip the only thing keeping my face off the floor. “Pa!”
“Carlos, wait!” Carrie calls him. But one hard look her way and she takes a literal step back.
“I’ve spoiled you, Hannah.” My wrist still in his hold, my father shoves me out the door. “That ends now.”
First Day of Freshman Year - High School
“Did you get lost on the way to The Valley?”
Three girls stand before me, giggling in designer shoes. Gucci and Fendi. They block my path through the school cafeteria, their uniforms decorated in brands I've only dreamed of. It’s a far cry from my mom’s scratchy old sweater that I’m wearing over the school’s polo.
“Are you on the way to public school?” One girl’s eyes land on my earrings. Handmade flowers from Bogota. She twists her nose as if it stinks, light streaming in from the glass ceiling.
It’s the fanciest cafeteria I’ve ever stood in, in the fanciest school I’ve ever been to. Classes have extra-comfy sofas, the library holds five floors of books, and students dress like they’re in a TV show. The building alone has three pools — all indoor. And this is just the town’s high school.
The locals aren't as welcoming as the school’s facilities. All week, I’ve heard whispers and comments. I get it, I’m new to Paradise Hill, but I didn’t think Paradise came with prerequisites. My parents say to keep my head down. Get to class. Get good grades. Take initiative.
These girls don’t know it yet, but this morning, I took the biggest initiative I could.
“How did you get here, anyway?” The girl with the Burberry headband asks next. “In a dumpster?”
“No," I respond, a smile spreading across my face. "But that’s where your parents should have left you.”
Burberry Headband’s face reddens, her jaw hanging. “We have ourselves a mouthy one,” she says, glancing at the group of boys sitting in the middle of the cafeteria. They're spread out across two large sofas behind stone coffee tables, like their own cafe.
My mind floats to what it would be like, sitting there, soaking in the entire student body.
Every clique. Every move. They glow with power.
I’ve watched them all week, posting up around the school.
On top of the front steps. By the statue.
I can’t tell who the leader is. The one with the long dark hair dresses the best, but the one with blue streaks is the loudest.
“You don’t belong here." Burberry Headband isn't giving up.
“Yeah, well, you don’t belong in that size six, even when you suck it in.” Cheap shot, but she forgot I saw her friends telling her to do just that two days ago, before they locked me in the bathroom.
The cafeteria goes silent.
“You have a lot of nerve,” she says, glancing back at the boys again. “You think you can last in here by talking to me like that? I’ll make sure you get sent right back to Mexico.”
“Colombia,” I correct, moving past her. “Where I’m from, girls like you aren’t taken seriously. And I do think I can last here. Your beige act just isn’t inspiring.” I wiggle my fingers to say good-bye, moving past them.
Looking over my shoulder, the girls watch as I walk up to the table in the middle.
Right to the best-dressed boy. The one with the long, shiny hair and those sky-high cheekbones.
Those dark, mysterious eyes. My heart hammers through my chest, but I keep my head high.
This is a risk. A big one that could topple me if it goes wrong. I hope it’s worth it.
He eyes me when I step to him. So do his friends. Like foxes, watching and waiting.
“Careful, Kitten,” he says. “You sure you want to poke the lions?”
I smirk, pushing up on my toes. He leans in, and I press my lips to his.
He doesn’t pull away as the room peels apart, whispers erupting around us. I count to ten like I told him, and it feels like a lifetime before our lips part. It takes a second for me to open my eyes, and when I do, he greets me with a smirk.
When I look over at the girls who bullied me all week, their jaws are so wide I can fit the school in them.
With another small wave, I walk out of the cafeteria, like my stomach isn’t grumbling from choosing this performance over a real meal.
My theatrics are for a reason. I want them to relish in what happened. I want it to sink in.
I kissed a Crown, and they can’t do anything about it.