8. Liv
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIV
I n the two months it took me to make the call, my life has changed drastically.
No longer being a virgin is only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve moved to the dorms, as planned—except I’m not attending Crompton College. I attend the Royal University. I called the acceptance office, and apologized for my late registration, explaining that I’d been trying to sort out the financial side of things before confirming I would be one of their new freshmen mid-September.
“Understandable, and you’re not late at all. The deadline is Sunday,” the kindly old lady informs me with a smile. “Did you end up sorting the finances, honey? There are grants and aid packages we could talk about—as well as an installment system. I can make you an appointment with the department…”
“I’m fine actually,” I replied, finding myself flushing as I signed away more money than I’ve spent in my entire life without blinking.
The college is a dream, as is the fact that I no longer have to count pennies for every little thing. It’s hard to get out of the habit of checking which banana is the most financially sound. And I don’t truly try to stop myself; I’ll always notice the price of things. It’s just that now, I sometimes decide I’m going to eat organic anyway.
The biggest change is that my future was fairly set until now. I knew exactly what classes I would take: those leading to a secure income right out of school. IT or finance.
Now, I just don’t know. I was paid half a million euros at eight am sharp on that Sunday morning, before Callum even dropped me off. He must have scheduled the transfer because he was still spooning me, and lazily thrusting into me from behind at the time.
My clothes are another change. I didn’t want to stand out too badly at my crazy exclusive, crazy expensive new college, so I opted to pay a visit to Annalise. I wasn’t sure it was the right call, given the fact that I had no intention of dropping all my money on clothes, but she asked about my budget, and didn’t even wince when I admitted I didn’t want most of my tops to cost more than fifty bucks.
“That’s entirely reasonable for casualwear. A couple of fancier things around the one, one-fifty mark, maybe?” she suggested. “For parties and the like.”
I agreed to what seemed a reasonable solution; six thousand bucks later, I have a brand-new wardrobe, top to bottom, underwear included. I only skipped footwear; I have the Mary Janes when I want to dress up, and my beat-up Converse work fine otherwise.
I feel more sure of myself. The security, the clothes, the fact that I’m attending the best university in the country, is a huge boost of confidence.
I try not to think about that night much during the day. Or the next three days, when I still felt them each time I walked, or moved.
They fucked me all night. After bringing me to a dark bedroom, my wrists were tied to the bedpost, and Sebastian, Hawk, and Callum took turns, jerking themselves over my skin, against my tits, in my hand when they weren’t inside me. Then I was carried to the shower and fucked again. Back to the bed, on all fours this time. It must have been two or three when the guests excused themselves, leaving me with the birthday boy. I didn’t even think to try to leave, just passed out, only to be awoken with a hard shaft pumping inside my burning pussy.
Trying not to daydream about it is one thing; I mostly manage. But at night, there’s no helping the memories flooding back to me, so I wake up drenched and frustrated in the middle of the night.
I think that’s why I could only bring myself to contact her at the start of October. After all, she was the one they really wanted. I was the replacement, because I was easier to buy and less complicated.
The girl across the table from me has dark hair. The differences between us stop there.
“We really do look alike,” she marvels, sipping her chai latte.
“Dad and his super swimmers,” I retort with a snort.
She tilts her head, her expression mostly blank. “What is he like?”
I shrug. “He’s a drunk.”
What else is there to say?
My half-sister nods. “Mom said as much. We went no-contact because he hit her. I’m…sorry you had to grow up with him. Is there anything we can do to help?”
I didn’t really understand my instinct to get my shit together before I tried to get in touch with my little sister, but now I do.
“No,” I assure her sincerely. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” She’s surprised, but not particularly relieved. I don’t get the feeling she would have been annoyed if I had asked her for cash.
“I didn’t reach out for money. I have some…” I hope she doesn’t ask how. I’m just eighteen, and she likely knows our father can’t keep a job for shit. I don’t want to explain how I came into my newfound prosperity.
“Okay. But if you do need anything—well, we have money.” She winces. “I sound awkward. I didn’t mean…” Grace hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip the same way I do when I’m not sure what to say. “We’re sisters. I don’t want you to struggle, when we have the means to help. My mother married a rich man, you see, and he’s very generous.”
I smile. While it’s abundantly clear to me that Grace is mostly shy, and a little bit on the awkward side, I can see how some would see her as stuck-up.
“You’re kind. But I'm truly fine. I did struggle for a while,” I admit, “but I manage now. I’m going to RUA.”
Don’t ask me how, don’t ask me how, don’t ask ? —
“Oh wow! Me too, next year. I got early admittance. What are you studying?”
“I’m undeclared, so I picked up a few different courses to explore my options. I figure I can decide on a major next year, or the year after.”
A new, insane luxury.
“Are we the same person?” she jokes.
It’s all I can do not to laugh in her face as I imagine her dangling her ass around a pole in a G-string. Maybe not.
“And how did you find me, if I may ask? Did you see me and figure it out?”
I’m prepared for this question. “Actually, one of your friends did. Callum Noble? He told me he thought we might be related in July.” All of that is entirely true. “I asked him to give me some time to tell you myself.”
“Cal?” She's shocked. “Oh. I wouldn’t have thought he knew what I looked like.”
She chuckles, cheeks flushing.
Oh, goodie. My sister has a crush on the fucking psycho.
I absolutely don’t expect the sudden rush of protectiveness, but well, she’s me , except younger, adorable, sheltered, and so not ready to deal with bloody Callum Noble.
“Oh, no, sis. Don’t go there.” Rather than explaining all the reasons why she shouldn’t, I say, “I liked it. It’s mine.”
She gasps, then leans forward with a giggle. “You did? Do tell!”
“Nope.”
The manipulative little thing pouts. “But I must live vicariously through you. Everyone thinks he’s droolworthy, but he hardly ever dates…"
“Well…” I need a second to think about what I can say to satisfy her curiosity without shocking her. “We had dinner. He’s an interesting mixture of a gentleman and a crass-as-fuck motherfucker.”
“Isn’t he just?” she says with a snort. “I mean, I don’t hang out with him much, of course, but my…stepbrother’s friends with his cousins. We’ve attended the same parties for a while. How can one be so eloquent yet so very rude ?”
“Right?”
“But I wasn’t asking about the extent of his vocabulary, Olivia.”
“Liv,” I correct. “And that’s all you're getting. Facts on his very large vocabulary .”
She practically chokes on her drink.
Grace makes me think about Jinx a little; quiet and easy to blush, but so very sweet and fun when she opens up. By the time our cups are empty, I don’t want to let her go. And she might think the same, because she offers to let me tag along with her. She’s seeing some friends at a fancy gallery opening.
The gallery, it happens, belongs to the Forts. Mr. Fort saved a princess a decade ago, and his daughters ended up engaged to princes as a result. The youngest sister, Belladona, is one of the most beloved girls in the entire kingdom, adored by the media and public alike. As it turns out, she’s a friend of Grace’s.
If someone had told me before summer that I would be attending events in the company of the highest of the peers of the realm, I would have laughed hard enough to crack my ribs, but here I am. It’s not even that weird. Grace introduces me proudly, and people marvel over our looks. I meet fellow students, none of whom stop to ask why there are holes in my Converse.
“Love your hair!” a gorgeous Asian chick says. “You have to tell me who dyes it.”
“No one. It actually grows like this, believe it or not. It’s a little lighter at the end of the summer.”
“Gosh! That explains why you don’t have roots. She’s just so pretty. ”
“And I adore the look,” Bella announces. “A little edgy, not quite emo.”
“Give me your number!”
I get everyone’s numbers.
I don’t know why I expected all of them to be stuck-up as fuck—and maybe they are to complete outsiders, but they’re used to Grace, and I share her face.
I’m having the best of times, completely relaxed, though my social meter is about to hit empty. I’ll have to recharge over the next few days.
And then, I look up at a particularly gorgeous painting across the modern white hall, and I see him, leaning on the opposite wall, surrounded by friends in sharp suits.
And his gray eyes are set on me.