Chapter Ten
THE REST OF THE SUMMER passes like a patterned dream.
I’m either with his family or Arkane himself, if he’s not busy with grad school. And even though not a single photo of us shows up on the papers, it doesn’t really matter. The whole of San Antonio knows.
I’m Arkane Young’s girlfriend.
By day.
But by night, though—
I didn’t make the same mistake again. I don’t even bother locking my door. And I think...even though no one says a word, everyone knows.
Not just the fact that we sleep in the same room, but that I’m still...you know. I could be wrong, but I think it’s an agreement he’s made with his parents. Maybe.
Either way—they know. And they’re okay with it.
But me, though?
The more time I spend in his arms, the more my confusion grows. When he touches me, I don’t just shatter. When he touches me, I see it in his eyes. I feel it in the way his kisses can be both gentle and demanding, rough and tender—
He wants me as much as I want him.
Needs me the way I need him.
And even though I’m too much of a wimp to say the words out loud—
I want to believe that his heart feels the same thing my heart does.
I want to believe he loves me the way I love him.
I want to believe that.
But what I don’t get is why.
Why won’t he just say the words back when he already knows I’m in love with him?
And I know he knows. We know his whole family knows, and everyone working for him, too. It’s just him who doesn’t...say it.
The closest he’s come was one afternoon, maybe a month into the summer, when he brought me with him to the ranch and I said I wanted him to teach me how to ride.
And I meant the kind of riding where a horse is involved and you sit on top of it and you go places, but Arkane apparently had other ideas about how one earns a riding pass, because six hours later I was knee-deep in manure, and he had informed me—with the tiniest curve of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile—that the right to ride was earned, and that I had fifty more hours of mucking stalls before he’d consider it.
Fifty more hours.
Of horse poop.
And the worst part is I actually loved it.
Then there was the grad school thing. He asked me if I wanted to sit in on some of his classes, and I—proud girl that I am—said yes, because I wasn’t going to let him see that the idea made me nervous.
And then I spent the next two hours in the back of the lecture hall trying not to stare at him, which I was doing a bad job of, because at some point my phone buzzed.
Arkane: Why are you so obsessed with me?
I typed out something furiously indignant, and I was about to hit send, when another text came in.
Arkane: The lyrics to a Mariah Carey song. I heard the girl next to me singing it.
I started hitting backspace because nobody needed to see what I’d just typed, and that was when the third one came in—
Arkane: But I think it’s a good question to ask. Because you are, aren’t you? Just like I’m obsessed with you?
I bit my lip so hard I could taste it.
Because if I let myself sigh even once, I’d be sighing for hours.
And that’s the closest he’s come. Obsessed. Not loved. And I’ve been rereading that text for weeks now, and I still can’t decide what it means.
But I’m too proud to ask.
Just so, so proud, that on the day of Joy’s birthday party, I just happen to come running back to the house late, having forgotten the time while I was in the stables (like seriously, why did no one ever tell me before how relaxing it is to muck stalls?), and because I’m using the service exit at the back (don’t want my muddy shoes to leave ugly footprints on the main stairs), the people in the kitchen don’t see me—
“They caught another one at the back.”
“How many’s it been this week?”
“Today alone, there’s three. This week, though? Maybe a dozen.”
“Why do they even try? He’s even had lawyers sending out all their letters. No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara. Mr. Young can’t say it plainer than that.”
That’s...that’s when everything becomes a blur.
“Why do you think he doesn’t want those photos, though? They look so good together.”
“Maybe it’s just a summer fling for both of them.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Rich people are hard to understand. Remember Miz Mirabella?”
“His prom date?”
“They were prom king and prom queen. They dated whole senior year, then...they broke up. No one knows why.”
Gasp.
“What if that’s the reason? He doesn’t want news to reach all the way to Spain, where Miz Mirabella is? So that if she ever comes back—”
I think I heard enough.
I think I really do because my vision’s already given up on me, and the last thing I need is to go deaf as well.
The first few steps up the stairs, I’m fine. But past the mezzanine, my legs start to wobble, and by the time I make it to the room they gave me—
I barely make it, actually.
My knees crashing on the carpeted floor as soon as the door closes behind me.
But the tears, they’re not falling like I expect them to.
Is it because I’m in shock?
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
What if that’s the reason? He doesn’t want news to reach all the way to Spain, where Miz Mirabella is?
So that if she ever comes back—
No.
Not shock.
Because I remember Mom talking about this. Her whole mind becoming a blur. And then her doing something crazy that led to her and my anonymous “sire” splitting up.
I used to think that was all B.S., but now that my mind is still a blur and I just can’t get past thinking those words—
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
I drag myself into the shower. I let the water run over me for a long time, and I don’t cry because I still can’t. The tears are in me somewhere, crowded up behind my ribs, but they’re not coming out.
I turn off the water and change into the dress Arkane’s handpicked for me.
Black silk. Swirly. Pretty. Matching heels with ribbons that lace up my ankles.
He had it delivered yesterday with a note that just said “for tonight” in his handwriting, and I had squealed—actually squealed, like a cartoon—when I opened the box.
I face myself in the mirror.
I probably look like a princess. Probably. But I can’t be sure because everything is just a blur.
I take a deep breath.
I want to tell myself it’s okay.
But the words...
They don’t just materialize in my mind.
I’m already stepping out of the room, and everything’s still a blur.
I’m going down the stairs, and the staff I heard talking earlier, we meet again, and they’re all smiling at me like they weren’t just wondering a while ago if—
“Good evening, Miz Tiara.”
I actually manage a smile.
“Good evening.”
Because once their manners have rubbed off on you, you’re apparently contaminated for life.
And so it continues.
Me showing impeccable, just really impeccable manners as I join the rest of the family in the ballroom.
It’s bigger than any ballroom has a right to be—high ceilings, chandeliers, a string quartet playing softly.
Most of the family is there already. Aldrich and Joy, Raiden and Icelle, Lucius with his precise posture and a glass of something amber in his hand.
But the other Youngs—Benedict, Marius, and of course, him—
They’re still not here.
Maybe they’re in Spain, who knows?
Who the hell cares?
“Hey, you.”
I’m halfway across the dance floor when someone suddenly blocks my way.
“I know you.”
He’s older, but not too much. Maybe Arkane’s age? Silver-spooned like everyone here. And handsome. But he doesn’t make my skin crawl. Arkane’s cured me of that.
“You’re that girl with Arkane.” The slur in his voice is like a barometer. I’m thinking slightly past tipsy, but not quite drunk yet.
“I attend Cornwall with Icelle.”
“Whoa, whoa.” He starts laughing and looks at me in amazement. “This is rich. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a girl deny being with Arkane. Are you in your right mind?”
“Are you?”
The words are out before I even realize what I’m saying, but he just laughs it off. Whatever. I guess I’m finally cured of manners, too.
I’m about to walk past Mr. Almost Drunk when he suddenly cups my elbow.
“Hey, not so fast, babe—”
He whirls me around, and I’m about to knee him where it’s going to hurt most when I see it.
Arkane walking inside the ballroom.
And that blur? Everything suddenly becomes so painstakingly clear the moment I see Arkane come to a halt, his gaze narrowing when he sees me right next to the frog.
Because Mr. Almost Drunk?
That’s another thing that’s become perfectly clear. He’s not a man, but a frog, and isn’t there a story about kissing a frog to turn him back into a prince?
“If you’re not with him, then how about you and I...”
Well, this frog is just a frog, and my prince is already a prince, and I’m Tiara who doesn’t have a tiara, but that’s fine. My prince says a princess, and all that’s missing are the words—
Mr. Almost Drunk Turned Frog is pulling me closer to him, and I’m letting him.
Everything is still super, super clear because Arkane’s still not moving—
Mr. Frog lets go of my elbow and cups my chin. “Anyone told you how hot you are?”
His head starts to lower, and Arkane is slowly fading from my view.
Any moment now, I’m thinking.
Any moment now, any moment, any moment he’s going to stop this from happening.
He’s going to prove me wrong.
Prove everyone wrong.
He’s going to—
NO!
It’s only when another man’s lips touch mine that I realize—
Oh.
Oh, Mom.
It hits me with a sickening clarity the moment his mouth presses against mine. This is what she talked about. This is what I thought was B.S.
When you think you’re seeing things so clearly—that’s the trick.
Because it’s when your mind is lost in the blur, you can’t tell the difference between truth and suspicions, reality and fears.
I shove Mr. Frog off, and he falls back with a croak of protest.
“Hey!”
Arkane’s gone.
The story isn’t ending the way it’s supposed to—
And Icelle—
It’s the first time I’ve seen her running.
“What have you done?”
Her voice is slightly shaking. I think this is her at her most emotional.
“What have I done?” I sound defensive to my own ears.
“Shouldn’t you ask your brother?” In denial, too.
“Your brother who doesn’t want to have photos taken of us—”
“Because he knows about your mom.”
Because I’m an idiot, not a princess.
“He doesn’t want her to do things that will hurt you.”
And I got everything wrong.
“He knows she’ll come here if she finds out my stepbrother’s in love with you.”
So, so wrong.