Chapter 1
“The gala starts at six o’clock; I’ll send the car to pick you up at five.”
I tucked my phone between my ear and shoulder as I slid my book bag and lunchbox into one of the cubbies set aside for the student workers in the staff room of the tutoring center.
“I don’t get off work until five and I will need to get changed once I get back home.
I can be ready by five thirty,” I countered, trying not to let annoyance tinge my voice.
My boyfriend, Theo, sighed loudly on the other end of the line. “Can’t you just dip out early?”
I ground my teeth together as I took a deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth.
I usually went along with his plans to keep the peace, but today my stubbornness took over.
“No, Theo. We’ve talked about this. I can’t just leave early; that would be unfair to the students on my schedule. ”
“It’s just one time, Ads. After all, once we get married you won’t need to work, so who cares if there’s a few marks on your record?”
“Theo, I will be ready at half five. I’ll see you tonight,” I said shortly, hanging up the phone before he could respond.
I had been dating Theo—formally Lord Theodore Wiltz, heir to the Duke of Walden—since we met during our first semester at Royal College of Wexstone here in Cadence, nearly a year and a half ago.
Though I entered university with zero interest in dating anyone noble, Theo had been charming and sweet, convincing me to give him a chance.
His charm had worn off in recent months, replaced with not-so-subtle commentary about how I didn’t need to focus so hard on my studies, since my primary purpose once we were married would be to produce an heir and oversee the household like I was some kept woman living in the 1800s. Gag.
I sighed as I made myself a cup of tea. I hadn’t been particularly excited about attending that evening’s gala to begin with.
I knew we’d be seated at a table with Theo’s polo friends, most of who acted like they had their mallets perpetually stuck up their asses.
Now I was downright dreading the whole thing.
Glancing over the tutoring schedule posted above the tea kettle and coffee pot, I noticed that all of my appointments for the afternoon had been crossed out, with a note that simply read: See Ms. Gable.
“Hey, Adelaide,” a deep voice said behind me. I turned around to find my coworker Beau approaching with a large stack of books balanced in his hands.
“Hey! Here, let me help you with that.” I grabbed a few books off the top of the stack and set them down on the table in the center of the staff room.
“Busy schedule today?” He nodded to the calendar on the wall.
“Well, I thought it was going to be, but then I saw this.” I tapped the paper a few times where the note was written. “Now I’m kind of freaking out. That’s weird, right?”
I had been working in the tutoring center since my first semester. It wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, but it was far from the worst I’d had. That designation belonged to the summer I spent mucking the stalls at the community stables back home. That smell would haunt me to my dying day.
No, spending hours going back and forth with my fellow students about the proper way to format their term papers wasn’t my dream, but it was a great way to gain relevant job experience and bulk up my resume.
I was determined to graduate at the top of my class and secure my pick of teaching positions at the best primary schools in the country upon graduating.
Ms. Gable, the head of the tutoring center, was a kind—if somewhat strict—woman. I mostly kept my head down and focused on my work, so it was strange to see that she had reworked my schedule for an unannounced meeting.
“That is weird,” Beau replied, his brows furrowing together. “I know she’s been in her office all morning with the door shut.” He pointed toward her office at the back of the center.
“Hmm. Well, I guess I better go see what’s up before I think myself into an anxiety attack.”
“I totally understand that. Good luck.” He waved as I walked off.
I approached the office door, pausing before I knocked. I could hear low voices talking inside; I didn’t want to interrupt, but also knew Ms. Gable would be expecting me to arrive for my shift.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it from my back pocket to a text from Theo.
Theo
Actually, don’t bother. I’ll just go by myself.
Annoyance flared in my chest, but I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath in through my nose and slowly letting it out through my mouth. I’d deal with him later.
Giving myself a brief pep talk, I rapped quickly on the door.
“Come in.” Ms. Gable’s high-pitched voice beckoned me inside.
The old wooden door creaked as I opened it to see Ms. Gable behind her desk, with Professor O’Connelly—head of the Foreign Languages Department—and Dr. Shariq—vice-chancellor of the university—occupying the two leather armchairs in front of it.
Oh shit. What did I do?
“Adelaide! Come in, come in.”
I stepped through the door and gently shut it. The office was plenty big, but with four people, it felt a bit cramped. And was it me, or did the air feel a little tense?
“Please, have a seat.” Professor O’Connelly stood and offered me his armchair, taking a seat in a third chair that had been brought in from the staff room.
“Thank you,” I said as I sat. My hands grew sweaty and I prayed that I didn’t slide right off the seat, or worse, make that god-awful farting sound that leather makes when you move wrong on it.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why we asked you here,” Ms. Gable began.
I didn’t trust myself to say anything that wasn’t stupid so I just smiled and nodded, my go-to when I was afraid I might word-vomit.
“Ms. Levy, we have a student here at the university who is in need of some tutoring in Spanish.” Dr. Shariq cleared his throat and then readjusted himself in his seat to face me. “This is a high-profile student, so these sessions would need to be kept confidential.
“Both Ms. Gable and Professor O’Connelly thought you would be the perfect student to ask.
From what I hear, you are one of our best tutors, in addition to being at the top of your class.
They also feel that you possess the ability to handle the sensitive nature of this request with the delicacy that it requires. ”
Meaning I can keep my mouth shut and not blab.
“Thank you, you’re both very kind,” I said, blushing as I nodded to Ms. Gable and Professor O’Connelly. I had never been very good at taking compliments.
Dr. Shariq continued. “If you accept, you would need to sign a confidentiality agreement. While I understand that there is a confidentiality requirement already in place for our tutors regarding the progress of the students with whom they work, we want to add one that covers not speaking to journalists or media outlets. Additionally, you would need to be okay with the fact that there will be two security guards present at each session.”
Who in the world could this be? Theo was far from the only noble student who attended RCW; the school was a popular option for international students and children of Wexstone’s noble families, though few of them had security guards on campus.
Given that the student needed help in Spanish, that likely crossed out anyone from Spain or Latin America, but I was still coming up empty on who it could be.
“Do you think this is something you could do, Adelaide?” Ms. Gable asked gently. “I understand if you’re uncomfortable with the arrangement. We are asking a lot of you.”
Most of my interactions with high-society students had been at Theo’s or his friends’ parties, and their welcome had always been lukewarm at best. They seemed confused about why Theo was dating someone common-born, and a scholarship student at that.
But I knew how to put on a professional face and could surely suck it up for this task.
I might not have a lot of fun, but having the vice-chancellor knowing my name in this context certainly couldn’t be a bad thing.
“No, I think—” I cleared my throat. “I know I can do it. Thank you for this opportunity.” I smiled tightly.
“Wonderful!” Dr. Shariq gleamed. “We already had the paperwork drawn up in hopes that you would say yes. Let me grab that and you can get to signing.” Ms. Gable passed me a pen as he picked up a legal envelope from the desk and withdrew the papers.
“Adelaide, thank you for doing this,” Professor O’Connelly said as I tried to speed-read the contract. “I know Prince Oliver will really excel once you start helping him. He just needs that little push, and I know you will help him get there.”
My hand slackened and the pen dropped to the desk.
“I’m sorry, did you say Prince Oliver?”
Of course it would be the prince.
“Yes. Prince Oliver is the student with whom you’ll be working,” Ms. Gable said. “Is that a problem?” She peered at me, an edge of concern in her eyes.
I steeled my face and answered. “Of course not. I’m sorry, I just forgot he was a student here.”
“I wish I could forget!” Dr. Shariq laughed heartily.
“He’s a wonderful young man. But with the additional security measures he requires, and the occasional fan frenzy he draws at the beginning of each semester when new students arrive on campus, it is impossible for the administration to forget that he’s here. ”
“I can imagine,” I replied tightly, forcing a smile to my face.
I actually couldn't imagine. I had never understood the draw to Prince Oliver or his older brother Xavier. My father had been friends with King Leroy since they were young, and though our family was occasionally invited to palace events, I stopped attending once I was old enough to stay home by myself. My entire life I had watched Prince Xavier use his status to get out of the very trouble he carelessly caused. And in primary school, Prince Oliver had never once intervened when Renata Raines or her friends bullied me for being a “scholarship kid,” my excellent grades, or for the fact that I’d rather read a book than do just about anything else.
As an adult, I simply had no desire to be a part of that circle.
And now Prince Oliver needed a tutor. I wondered if Spanish was the only class he was struggling in.
As far as I could recall, he had done fine in primary school, though he and most of the other high-born kids had later gone off to a prestigious private prep school, while I opted to remain at home and attend a local secondary school with my best friend.
Perhaps his grades had taken a dive as he aged, though that didn’t seem likely.
Despite his faults, he had always seemed bright and like a hard worker.
I supposed I would find out more soon enough. If I helped Prince Oliver pass his class, I could guarantee an amazing recommendation from Dr. Shariq when I graduated, giving me an additional leg up for securing the job of my choice.
Yes, for my own future, I would set aside my feelings for the prince and get through the next few months of working with him—one way or another.