Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1)

  Reed stays with me. “Go,” he orders. “We’ve got a game tonight, and now my guys are distracted because you’re dressed like a slut. Just get out of here.”

  He stalks off, shirtless, his muscular back gleaming in the sun streaming in from the skylights. Someone tosses him another shirt and he slips into it on his way to his brother. Easton meets my eyes for a moment, his expression impossible to decipher, but then he turns to Reed, and the Royals talk in hushed tones to each other.

  “Bitch,” a voice hisses.

  I ignore Jordan and stalk away.

  16

  I don’t go to the football game. Wild horses couldn’t drag me to school tonight, not after everything that happened today. At least I was lively at the bakery. Still steaming from the fight, I tore around the little shop like a whirlwind. As Lucy was leaving, she made some comment about youth and energy and how she missed it.

  I almost yelled after her that unless she liked assholes and bitches, she missed nothing, but I figured I shouldn’t be shouting at my boss.

  I still can’t believe I physically assaulted Jordan Carrington.

  I’d do it again, though. In a heartbeat. The bitch had it coming.

  All I want to do tonight is hide in my room and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. That the Royals and their snobby friends don’t exist. But even in my self-imposed sentence of solitude, I can’t resist turning on the radio to the local station that’s covering the game.

  Of course, the Royal brothers get plenty of coverage. Reed gets a sack against the opposing quarterback. Easton makes a play that causes the announcers to groan.

  “Now that’s a hit.”

  “Both of them are gonna be icing their ribs tonight,” the other announcer agrees.

  Astor Park wins, and I sarcastically mutter, “Go team!” as I turn off the radio.

  I do my homework as a distraction, but I’m interrupted by a text from Valerie. There’s a party tonight, she informs me, this time at someone named Wade’s house. She asks if I want to come over to her place instead and dance the night away. I decline. I’m not in the mood to pretend that everything is okay in my life.

  I hate this school. I hate the people. Except Valerie, but I’m not sure even my quirky, energetic friend—my only friend—can make any of this torture worthwhile.

  Eventually I wander downstairs to the kitchen, where I find Brooke sipping a glass of wine at the counter. She’s wearing a silky red dress, strappy heels, and an impatient expression.

  “Hi,” I say tentatively.

  She nods in greeting.

  “Everything okay?” I grab a bag of corn chips from the pantry, then stand there awkwardly, wondering why I feel compelled to strike up a conversation with her.

  “Callum’s late,” she answers, her voice tight. “We’re flying to Manhattan for dinner, but he’s not home yet.”

  “Oh. Ah. I’m sorry.” They’re flying to Manhattan just to have dinner? Who does that? “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He probably got held up at the office.”

  She snorts. “Of course he got held up at the office. He fucking lives there, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Her harsh expletive makes me squirm.

  Brooke’s expression softens when she notices my discomfort. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Ignore me. I’m a cranky bitch today.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Why don’t you distract me while I wait? How was school?”

  “Next question,” I say immediately.

  That gets me a genuine-sounding laugh. Eyes twinkling, Brooke taps the empty stool beside her. “Sit,” she orders. “And tell Brooke all about it.”

  I sit down, though I’m not entirely sure why.

  “What happened at school, Ella?”

  I gulp. “Nothing, really. I, ah, may have beat the crap out of someone.”

  A shocked laugh flies out of her mouth. “Oh dear.”

  For some inexplicable reason, I end up telling her the whole story. How Jordan was determined to humiliate and shame me. How I turned the prank around to my own advantage. How I slammed my fist into the bitch’s jaw. When I’m done, Brooke surprises me by patting my arm.

  “You had every right to lose your temper,” she says firmly. “And good for you, putting that nasty girl in her place.”

  I wonder if Callum would have the same oddly proud reaction if he knew what I did to Jordan, but somehow I doubt it. “I feel bad,” I admit. “I’m not usually a violent person.”

  Brooke shrugs. “Sometimes a show of force is necessary, especially in this world. The Royal world. Do you think the Carrington girl is going to be the only person who gives you grief about where you come from? She won’t. Resign yourself to the fact that you now have enemies, Ella. A lot of them. The Royals are a powerful family, and you’re one of them now. That’s bound to inspire hate and jealousy in the people around you.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m not a real Royal. Not by blood.”

  “No, but you’re an O’Halloran by blood.” She smiles. “Trust me, that’s equally enticing. Your father was a very rich man. Callum is a very rich man. Ergo, you’re a very rich girl.” Brooke takes a delicate sip of her wine. “Get used to the gossip, darling. Get used to walking into a room and having everyone in it whisper that you don’t belong. Get used to it, but don’t let those whispers defeat you. Strike back when they strike you. Don’t be weak.”

  She’s like a war chief delivering a speech before battle, and I’m not sure if I agree with her advice or not. But I can’t deny I feel a bit better about rearranging Jordan’s smug face today.

  We hear the front doors open, and a moment later Callum strides into the kitchen. He’s wearing a tailored suit and looks frazzled.

  “Don’t say it,” he orders before Brooke can even speak. Then his tone goes softer. “I’m sorry I’m late. The board decided to call a meeting just as I was on my way out the door. But let me just get dressed and then Durand will take us to the airfield. Hi, Ella. How was school?”

  “Great,” I lie, hopping off the stool. I avoid Brooke’s amused eyes. “Have fun at dinner. I’ve got homework to finish.”

  I dart out of the kitchen before Callum realizes I didn’t go to the football game like he wanted.

  I head back to my princess room and spend the next two hours tackling boring math equations, and it’s a little past eleven when my door swings open and Easton strides inside without knocking.

  I jump in surprise. “Why the hell didn’t you knock?”

  “We’re family. Family doesn’t knock.” His dark hair is wet as if he’s showered recently, and he’s wearing sweats, a tight T-shirt, and a surly expression. In his right hand is a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  “What do you want?” I demand.

  “You weren’t at the game.”

  “So?”

  “Reed told you to be there.”

  “So?” I say again.

  Easton frowns. He takes a step toward me. “So you have to keep up appearances. Dad wants you involved in shit. He’ll stay off our backs as long as you play along.”

  “I don’t like games. You and your brothers don’t want to be around me. I don’t want be around you. Why pretend otherwise?”

  “Naah, you want to be around us.” He moves even closer and brings his mouth to my ear. His breath brushes my neck, but I don’t smell alcohol on it. I don’t think he’s dipped into the bottle yet. “And maybe I want to be around you.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Why are you in my room, Easton?”

  “Because I’m bored and you’re the only one home.” He flops down on my bed and lies back on his elbows, the whiskey bottle tucked at his side.

  “Valerie said there’s a post-game party. You could’ve gone to that.”

  Grimacing, he lifts his shirt, revealing a nasty looking bruise on his side. “I took a beating on the field. Don’t feel like going out.”

  Suspicion rolls through me. “Where’s Reed?”

  “At the party. Twins,
too.” He shrugs. “Like I said, it’s just you and me.”

  “I’m about to go to bed.”

  His eyes linger on my bare legs, and I know he also doesn’t miss the way my threadbare shirt clings to my chest. Rather than comment, he slides up the bed and rests his head on my pillows.

  I grit my teeth as he grabs the remote from the side table, flicks on the TV, and changes it to ESPN.

  “Get out,” I order. “I want to go to sleep.”

  “It’s too early for bedtime. Stop being a little bitch and sit down.” Surprisingly, there’s no malice in his tone. Just humor.

  But I’m still suspicious. I sit down as far away from him as possible without falling off the mattress.

  With a grin, Easton glances around my pink bedroom and says, “My dad is a clueless fucker, huh?”

  I can’t help but return the grin. “I guess he’s not used to raising girls.”

  “Not used to raising boys either,” Easton mutters under his breath.

  “Aw, is this where you tell me all about your daddy issues? Daddy wasn’t home, Daddy ignored me, Daddy didn’t love me.”

  He rolls his eyes again and ignores the taunt. “My brother’s pissed at you,” he says instead.

  “Your brother is always pissed about something.”

  Easton doesn’t respond. He raises the bottle to his lips.

  My curiosity gets the better of me. “Fine, I’ll bite. Why’s he pissed?”

  “Because you threw down with Jordan today.”

  “She had it coming.”

  He takes another sip. “Yeah, she did.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “What, no lecture? No ‘you’re tarnishing the Royal name, Ella. You’re a disappointment to us all.’”

  His lips quirk. “Naah.” Another grin surfaces, impish this time. “That was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time. The two of you rolling around on the floor like that….damn. You gave me enough material to feed the spank bank for years.”

  “Gross. I don’t want to hear about your spank bank.”

  “Sure you do.” One more sip, and then he holds out the Jack’s. “Drink.”

  “No thanks.”

  “For fuck’s sake, stop being so difficult all the time. Live a little.” He shoves the bottle in my hand. “Drink.”

  I drink.

  I’m not sure why. Maybe I do it because I want the buzz. Maybe I do it because this is the first time any Royal other than Callum has been somewhat nice to me since I moved in.

  Easton’s eyes shine with approval as I take a deep swig. He runs a hand through his hair, then winces at the movement. I feel sorry for him. That’s a heck of a bruise.

  We sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. I stop drinking the moment I feel buzzed, and he pokes me in the side, even as his gaze stays glued to the TV.

  “You’re not drinking enough.”

  “I don’t want any more.” I lean back on the headboard and close my eyes. “I don’t like being drunk. I stop at tipsy.”

  “Have you ever even been drunk?” he challenges.

  “Yes. Have you?”

  “Never,” he says innocently.

  I snort. “Uh-huh. You were probably an alcoholic at the age of ten.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I let out a sigh.

  “What?” He watches me curiously. He’s a lot more attractive when he’s not scowling or smirking.

  “Nothing. Just a stupid memory.” I should change the subject—talking about my past is something I usually avoid—but the memory has taken root, and I can’t help but laugh now. “It’s kind of messed up, actually.”

  “Well, now I’m intrigued.”

  “I was ten the first time I got drunk,” I confess.

  He grins. “For real?”

  “Yeah. My mom was dating this guy. Leo.” Who had mob ties, but I don’t share that with Easton. “We were living in Chicago at the time, and he took us to a Cubs game one weekend. He was drinking beer, and I kept begging to try a sip. My mom was all, no way in hell, but Leo convinced her that one sip wouldn’t hurt.”

  I close my eyes, transported back to that warm June day. “So I tried it, and it tasted awful. Leo thought the face I made when I drank it was hilarious, so every time Mom turned her back, he’d pass me the bottle and then piss his pants laughing at my expression. I couldn’t have drunk more than a quarter of that bottle, but I got wasted.”

  Beside me, Easton bursts out laughing. I realize this is the first time I’ve heard genuine laughter in the Royal palace. “Did your mom freak?”

  “Oh yeah. God. You should’ve seen it. I was stumbling up and down the aisle, this ten-year-old girl, slurring like a wino—‘whadda you mean you won’ buy me a hot dog?’”

  We’re both laughing now, the mattress shaking beneath us. It’s nice. So of course that means it doesn’t last long.

  Easton abruptly goes silent for a moment, then twists his head to meet my eyes. “Were you really a stripper?”

  I stiffen. The word no bites at my tongue. But what does it matter at this point? The kids at school are going to say I stripped, regardless of whether or not it’s true.

  So I nod.

  He looks impressed. “That’s kind of badass.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  He shifts, and his shoulder grazes mine. I don’t know if it’s intentional on his part, but when his face turns toward mine again, I know he’s totally aware of the contact between our bodies.

  “You know, you’re hot when you’re not snarling.” His gaze fixes on my mouth.

  I’m frozen in place, but it’s not fear that’s making my heart pound. Easton’s eyes are dark with need. They’re the same shade of blue as Reed’s.

  “You should go.” I swallow. “I want to go to bed now.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He’s right. I don’t. My thoughts are jumbled. I’m thinking of Reed, and his strong jaw and perfect face. Easton has the same jaw. Before I can stop myself, my hand reaches out to touch it.

  A husky noise escapes his lips. He leans into my fingers. His stubble scrapes along my soft skin.

  I’m stunned to feel a rush of heat between my legs.

  “You just had to come and screw everything up, didn’t you?” he mutters.

  And then his lips press against mine.

  My heart beats faster, in time to the pulse of the alcohol flowing through me. Sucking in a breath, I ease our mouths apart before the kiss can go any further.

  I exhale in a rush, fully prepared to pretend that it didn’t happen, but I underestimated Easton Royal’s sex appeal. He’s gorgeous. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his jaw strong like his brother’s. His stupid brother. Why can’t I get Reed out of my head?

  Easton shoves his fingers through my hair and tugs me toward him again. His lips brush mine, just briefly, before he pulls back. His gaze holds an invitation.

  I touch his cheek and close my eyes. A clear signal. I didn’t realize how badly I’ve been craving human contact. A boy’s warm lips on mine, his hands stroking my hair. I might be a virgin, but I’ve fooled around before, and my body remembers how good that feels. I sag against Easton’s chest as our mouths meet again.

  The next thing I know, he’s on top of me, the heavy weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. He moves his hips, and pleasure sweeps through me, making me tremble with need.

  Easton kisses me again. Deep and hungry.

  His tongue enters my mouth at the same time an incredulous voice says, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Easton and I break apart, both our heads swiveling toward the open doorway where Reed stands, staring at us in disbelief.

  “Reed—” Easton starts, but it’s no use. His brother turns around and stalks off.

  Reed’s footsteps are as loud as my pounding heart.

  Beside me, Easton rolls onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling and whispers, “Shit.”

  17

  A second ticks by. Two. Three. And then
Easton jackknives out of bed and runs out after Reed.

  “I was drunk,” I hear him exclaim in the hallway.

  And the burn of humiliation—the shame I swore I never felt—scorches me. He only kissed me because he was drunk.

  “Whatever, East. You do what you want. You always do.” Reed sounds tired, and my stupid heart, the hungry and lonely one that allowed Easton to kiss me, aches for Reed.

  “Screw you, Reed. You wanted me off painkillers and I am, but I got stomped by a three-hundred-pound heifer out there and my ribs hurt like a motherfucker. It’s either beer or oxy. Pick one.”

  Easton’s voice trails off and I don’t hear Reed’s response. Against my better judgment, I creep over to my door and peek out into the hall. I’m just in time to see them both disappear into Reed’s room. My bare feet don’t make a sound as I tiptoe down the hall to the now closed door.

  “Why aren’t you still at the party? Abby was all over you after the game,” Easton says. “Easy ass, dude.”

  Reed snorts. “That’s why I’m here. I can’t go back to that well.”

  “Why’d you go out with her in the first place?”

  I hold my breath because it’s an answer I’d like to know, too. What exactly is Reed’s type?

  There’s a thump and then another one, like something being throw at the wall.

  “She…she reminded me of Mom. Soft. Quiet. Not pushy.”

  “Like Ella.” Easton laughs sarcastically. Another thump, this time slightly muffled. “Hey, you almost hit me with that ball, fucker.”

  They both laugh. Are they laughing at me?

  “Stay away from her, East. You don’t know who she’s been with,” Reed warns, and now it sounds like they’re playing catch, just casually discussing my sexual history.

  “Is she really a stripper?” Easton asks after a bit. “She told me she was, but it could’ve been a lie.”

  “That’s what Brooke said. Plus it was in Dad’s report.”

  Brooke told them that I stripped? So much for trusting her! And what the hell does he mean that Callum has a report on me?

  “I never read it. Were there pictures?”