Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1)

  A few minutes later, a car engine rumbles from the courtyard, and I know Reed is gone.

  14

  The next morning I find Reed in the driveway leaning against Easton’s truck. He’s dressed in sneakers, long gym shorts, and a muscle tee that is open at the sides, and looking hotter than any jerk has the right to. A baseball cap is pulled low over his forehead.

  I look around, but the black Town Car is nowhere in sight. “Where’s Durand?”

  “You planning on going to the bakery?”

  “You planning on burning it down so I don’t tarnish the Royal name by working there?”

  He grumbles in annoyance.

  I grumble back.

  “Well?” he mutters.

  I scowl at him. “Yes, I’m going to work.”

  “I’ve got football practice, so if you want a ride, I suggest getting in the car because otherwise you’re going to be walking.” He opens the passenger door and then stomps to the driver’s side.

  I look for Durand again. Dammit, where is he?

  When Reed guns the engine, I start moving. What harm can he really do in a twenty-minute ride?

  “Buckle up,” he snaps.

  “I just got in. Give me a minute.” I cast my eyes upward and say a tiny prayer for patience. Reed doesn’t take off until I’m all buckled in. “Do you have male PMS or are you just in a shitty mood twenty-four/seven?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I hate myself for it, but I can’t stop looking at him. Can’t stop sweeping my eyes over the side of his movie-star face, his perfect ear that is framed by his dark hair. All the Royals have varying shades of brown hair. Reed’s runs closer to chestnut.

  In profile, his nose has a tiny bump on it and I wonder which of his brothers broke it for him.

  It’s really not fair how hot this guy is. And he’s got this whole bad boy vibe that I’m not usually into, but for some reason it makes him even hotter. I guess I like bad boys.

  Wait, what the hell am I thinking? I don’t like bad boys, and I don’t like Reed. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever—

  “Why are you staring at me?” he asks in annoyance.

  I push away all my crazy thoughts and counter, “Why not?”

  “Like the way I look, do you?” he taunts.

  “Nope, just committing to memory the profile of a jackass. You know, so if I’m ever called upon to draw one in art, I’ll have some inspiration,” I reply airily.

  He grunts and it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. For the first time in his presence, I start to relax.

  The rest of the trip passes quickly, almost too quickly. I feel a tiny kernel of disappointment when the bakery comes into view, which is all sorts of fucked up because I don’t like this guy.

  “You driving me every day or just this morning?” I ask when he brakes in front of the French Twist.

  “Depends. How long you planning on keeping up the charade?”

  “It’s not a charade. It’s called earning a living.”

  I get out of the truck before he can manage another stupid and mean retort.

  “Hey,” he calls after me.

  “What?” I turn around, and that’s when I get my first full look at his face this morning. My hand flies up to cover my mouth. The left side of his face, a part that I now realize he kept shaded from me the entire ride, is bruised. His lip is puffy. There’s a gash over his eye and a bruise on the upper edge of his cheek. “Oh my God, what happened to you?”

  I raise my fingers to his face, not realizing that my feet carried me from the bakery back to the truck.

  He jerks away from my touch. “Nothing.”

  My hand falls uselessly to my side. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “It is to you.”

  Grim faced, he speeds off, leaving me behind to wonder what he did last night and why he called me over just now if he wasn’t planning on saying anything important. I do know one thing. If I got hit that hard in the face, I’d be pissy the next morning, too.

  Despite my better judgment, I worry about Reed throughout my morning shift at the bakery. Lucy casts me some concerned looks but since I work hard like I’d promised, she doesn’t say anything.

  After my shift, I hurry off to school, but I don’t see Reed. Not on the path leading to the gym, not in the halls, and not even at lunch. It’s like he doesn’t even go to Astor Park.

  And when classes are over, it’s the big Town Car that’s waiting for me. Durand’s holding the door impatiently, so I can’t even loiter in the parking lot. It’s better this way, I tell myself. No good can come from thinking about Reed Royal.

  I lecture myself all the way home, but as we pull through the wrought-iron gates, Durand gives me something else to think about.

  “Mr. Royal would like to see you,” his double bass voice informs me when the car comes to a stop at the front steps.

  I sit there like a dummy as I process that Mr. Royal means Callum. “Um, okay.”

  “He’s in the pool house.”

  “The pool house,” I repeat. “Am I being called to the principal’s office, Durand?”

  His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “Don’t think so, Ella.”

  “That’s not very encouraging.”

  “Want me to drive you around some more?”

  “Will he still want to see me?”

  Durand nods.

  “Then I better go.” I sigh dramatically.

  The corner of his eyes lift slightly in what is considered a broad smile for him.

  I drop my backpack at the base of the sweeping staircase and then make the trek to the back of the house, across the long patio, and to the end of the yard. The pool house is glassed in on three sides. There must be some trick to the walls because sometimes the side nearest the pool is reflective rather than see-through.

  As I get closer, I realize that the walls are really a series of doors on a slider and they’ve been opened, allowing the ocean breeze to drift from the shore up to the house.

  Callum is sitting on a sofa facing the ocean. He turns around when my shoes scrape on the tiled floor.

  He nods in greeting. “Ella. You have a good day at school?”

  No trash in my locker? No pranks in the girls’ room? “Could have been worse,” I reply.

  He gestures for me to come sit with him.

  “This was Maria’s favorite place,” he tells me. “When all the doors are open, you can hear the ocean. She liked getting up early to watch the sunrise. She told me once it was like a magic show every morning. The sun draws back the curtain of inky black to reveal a palette of colors more gorgeous than even the greatest masters could conjure.”

  “Are you sure she wasn’t a poet?”

  He smiles. “She was rather poetic. She also said the rhythmic push and pull of the waves against the shore is a musical score as pure as the most brilliant orchestration.”

  We listen to it, the tinkle and wash as the tides creep up to the sand and then slide back as if pulled by an invisible hand. “It’s beautiful,” I admit.

  A low moan slips from Callum’s throat. In one hand, he clutches his usual glass of whiskey, but in the other, gripped so tight his knuckles are white, he holds a picture of a dark-haired woman with eyes so bright it’s like sun shining from the frame.

  “Is that Maria?” I gesture to the frame.

  He swallows and nods. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  I nod back.

  Callum tips his head and empties the glass in one swift gulp. He barely sets the glass down before reaching for a refill. “Maria was the glue that held our family together. Atlantic Aviation hit a bad patch about ten years ago. A series of reckless decisions coupled with the recession placed my sons’ legacy in jeopardy, and I threw myself into saving it, which took me away from the family. I missed seeing Maria. She always wanted a daughter, you know?”

  I can only nod again. It’s kind of hard to follow along this weird disjointed speech. I have no idea where he’
s going with all of this.

  “She would have loved you. She would have taken you from Steve and raised you as her own. She wanted a girl so badly.”

  I sit still as a stone. None of this sad story can be leading anywhere good.

  “My sons blame me for her death,” he says suddenly, startling me with the unexpected confession. “They’re right to do so. Which is why I let them get away with all kinds of shit. Oh, I know all about their little rebellions, but I can’t bring myself to raise a harsh word. I’m trying to pull the threads together now, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a mess. And I’ve made a mess of this family.” He draws a shaky hand through his hair, still managing to hold his glass, almost like the crystal object is the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.

  “I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this.”

  “A little.”

  He gives me a crooked, rough smile that reminds me so much of Reed that my insides flip over.

  “Dinah wants to meet you.”

  “Who’s Dinah?”

  “Steve’s widow.”

  My pulse speeds up. “Oh.”

  “I’ve been putting her off because you just got here, and, well, I wanted you to come to me about Steve. She and Steve toward the end there…” He trails off. “It wasn’t good.”

  My guard snaps up. “I get the feeling that I’m not going to like whatever you’re about to say.”

  “You’re pretty perceptive.” He hastily finishes off his second glass. “She’s demanding you come alone.”

  So I’m supposed to meet my dead dad’s wife, who Callum dislikes so much that he’s mainlining whiskey, without anyone at my back?

  I sigh. “When I said my day could be worse, it wasn’t meant as a challenge.”

  He snorts at this. “Dinah reminded me that my connection to you is more tenuous than hers. She’s your father’s widow. I’m just his friend and business partner.”

  A chill skates across my skin. “Are you saying that your guardianship isn’t legit?”

  “It’s temporary until Steve’s will has been probated,” he admits. “Dinah could contest it.”

  I can’t sit. I jump up and walk to the edge of the room, staring out at the water. I suddenly feel so stupid. I let myself believe I could make a home here even though Reed hates me, even though the students at Astor Park delight in tormenting me. Those things are supposed to be temporary nuisances. Callum has promised me a future, dammit. And now he’s telling me this Dinah woman can take that future away?

  “If I don’t go,” I say slowly, “then she’ll start making trouble, won’t she?”

  “That’s a fair assessment.”

  Mind made up, I turn back to Callum. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  * * *

  Durand takes us into the city and stops in front of a high-rise. Callum tells me he’s going to wait for me in the car, which only makes me more nervous.

  “This sucks,” I say flatly.

  He reaches out to touch my arm. “You don’t have to go.”

  “What other choice do I have? I can either go up and keep living with the Royals, or stay in the car and get taken away? That’s messed up.”

  “Ella,” he calls as I step onto the curb.

  “What?”

  “Steve wanted you. When he found out he had a daughter, it tore him up. I swear to you, he would have loved you. Remember that. No matter what Dinah says.”

  With those not-so-encouraging words in my ear, I let Durand escort me inside. The lobby of Dinah’s building is gorgeous, but the effect of the pretty stone walls, crystal lights, and deep wood trim doesn’t stun me like it would have pre-Royals.

  “She’s here to see Dinah O’Halloran,” Durand tells the desk clerk.

  “You can go right up.”

  Durand gives me a little push. “Last elevator. Press “P” for penthouse.”

  The carpeted, wood-paneled elevator is almost completely silent. There’s no music, only a slight mechanical whir to accompany its movement upward. It stops way too soon.

  The elevator doors slide open and I step into a wide, short hallway. At the end is one set of double doors. Holy shit. Does she live on the entire floor?

  A woman dressed in a maid’s outfit opens one of the doors as I get close. “Mrs. O’Halloran is waiting for you in the sitting room. May I get you a beverage?”

  “Water,” I croak. “I’d like a water, please.”

  My sneakers sink into the heavy carpet as I follow the maid down the hall and into the sitting room. I feel like a little lamb walking to her slaughter.

  Dinah O’Halloran is seated beneath a large painting of a nude woman. The model’s golden hair is down and she’s looking over her shoulder, green eyes narrowed seductively at the viewer. It…oh my God. The woman’s face is Dinah’s.

  “Do you like it?” Dinah asks with raised eyebrows. “I have others in the house but this is the most conservative.”

  Conservative? Lady, I can see your ass crack in the picture. “It’s nice,” I lie. Who has a bunch of nude paintings of themselves hanging around their house?

  I start to lower myself into the other chair in the room, but Dinah’s sharp voice stops me.

  “Did I tell you to sit down?”

  Cheeks flaming, I stiffen. “No. I’m sorry.” I remain standing.

  Her eyes rake over me. “So you’re the girl who Callum says is Steve’s daughter. Have you taken a paternity test yet?”

  A paternity test? “Um. No.”

  She laughs, a hollow, awful sound. “Then how do we know you’re not Callum’s bastard that he’s trying to pass off as Steve’s? That would be convenient for him. He always claimed he was faithful to his little wife, but you would be direct evidence that he wasn’t.”

  Callum’s daughter? Brooke had implied the same thing, but Callum looked offended when she’d said it. And my mother said that my dad was a man named Steve. I have his watch.

  Still, I feel sick to my stomach, even as I straighten my shoulders with false confidence. “I’m not Callum’s daughter.”

  “Oh, and you know that how?”

  “Because Callum’s not the type of man to ignore that he has a kid.”

  “You’ve been with the Royals for all of a week and you think you know them?” She sneers, then leans forward, hands pressed into the arms of her chair. “Steve and Callum were old SEAL buddies. They shared more women than a kindergarten class shares toys.”

  I stare in open-mouthed shock.

  “I have no doubt that your whore mother screwed them both,” she adds.

  The slur against Mom wrenches me out of a stunned stupor. “Don’t talk about my mother. You know nothing about her.”

  “I know enough.” Dinah leans back. “She was dirt poor and tried to shake Steve down for money by attempting to blackmail him. When that didn’t work, she pretended she had his kid. Only what she didn’t know is that Steve was sterile.”

  Dinah’s accusations are starting to sound like she’s flinging a bunch of wet spaghetti at the wall and hoping something sticks, kind of like Jordan and her tampons. I’m getting kind of sick of this crap. “Then let’s order up the paternity test. I don’t have anything to lose. If I’m a Royal, then I’ll be able to claim a sixth of the Royal fortune. Seems like a better deal than just being the ward of Callum Royal.”

  My bravado doesn’t go over well with Dinah, because she redoubles her attack. “You think Callum Royal cares about you? That man couldn’t keep his wife alive. She killed herself, rather than be with him. That’s the kind of person you’re cozying up to. And his boys? They’re drunk with money and privilege and he lets them run wild. I hope you lock your door at night.”

  Unwittingly, my mind jumps to that first morning when Easton stuck his hand down his pants and casually threatened me. I grit my teeth. “Why did you ask me to come here?” I’m still not seeing the point of this visit. It s
eems like she’s only interested in taunting me and making me uncomfortable.

  Dinah offers a cool smile. “I just wanted to see what I’m dealing with.” One eyebrow flicks up. “And I must say, I’m not too impressed.”

  That makes two of us.

  “Here’s my advice,” she continues. “Take whatever Callum has given you and leave. That house is cancer for women, and someday soon it’ll be nothing but dust. I suggest you get out while you still can.”

  She reaches over and grabs a bell. After one brisk ring, the maid appears like an obedient dog. She holds a tray with a single glass of water on it.

  “Ms. Harper is ready to leave,” Dinah announces. “She doesn’t need the water.”

  I can’t get out of there fast enough.

  Callum is waiting in the lobby when I stumble out of the elevator. “Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

  I rub my hands over my arms. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this cold.

  “Is Steve really my dad?” I blurt out. “Tell me.”

  He doesn’t look at all shocked by the question. “Yes, of course,” he says quietly.

  Callum leans in, arms open as if he wants to embrace me, but I rock backward, still completely shaken by Dinah’s revelations. I don’t need his comfort right now. I need the truth.

  “Why should I believe you?” I think of Dinah’s cynical words. “You never gave me proof of paternity.”

  “You want proof? Fine, I’ll give you proof.” He looks tired. “The DNA results are locked in my safe at home. And Dinah, by the way, has already seen them. Her lawyers have a copy.”

  I’m shocked. Did she lie to me? Or is he the liar in the bunch? “You did a DNA test?”

  “I wouldn’t have brought you here unless I knew for sure. I took a piece of hair from Steve’s bathroom at the office, and my PI got a sample of yours to compare it to.”

  How did… forget it, I don’t even want to know how he got his hands on my DNA. “I want to see the test results,” I demand.

  “Suit yourself, but believe me when I say that you’re Steve’s daughter. I knew you were his the moment I saw you. You have his stubborn jaw. His eyes. I could have picked you out of any lineup as Steve O’Halloran’s child. Dinah’s angry and scared. Don’t let her get to you.”