Twisted Palace (24 page)

Impatiently, I check the door. “Where’s Reed?” Everything’s more tolerable when he’s around. Only if he has his way, he won’t be around much longer.

I shove that depressing thought aside.

Wade shrugs. “He’ll be late. Jordan likes to make an entrance.”

“
Y
ou’re late
,” Jordan snaps as she throws open the mansion’s door.

I check my watch. “A whole minute late,” I answer, rolling my eyes. And even though her sharp tone scrapes across my nerves, this devil’s bargain Ella made was so fucking worth it. It’s not going to kill me to be civil. “Are you ready to go?” I ask politely.

Jordan’s gaze rakes over me. “Where’s your gold tie?”

That’s not the question I expected. I peer down at the black one hanging down my front. “I don’t think I own a gold tie.”

Her eyes narrow into thin strips. “Part of the deal is that you wear a gold tie to match my dress.”

I follow her hand as she Vanna Whites it down her body, which is wrapped in what looks like gold tissue. Really thin gold tissue. Holy hell, are her nipples visible? I try not to stare, but it’s not easy.

I catch a glimpse of Jordan’s smug face as I avert my eyes.

“Like what you see?”

“Your tits? Every girl’s got a pair, Jordan.”

Her smirk turns to a sneer. “Tell Ella the deal’s off and she still owes me.”

The door starts to close on my face. I slap my hand on the wood frame and push my way in.
Be nice, Reed. It’s not going to kill you to be nice to this chick
.

“You look nice,” I manage to grind out.

“Ahh, there you go.” The demon pats my arm, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to flinch. “Was that so hard?”

Yes. Really hard. And I don’t want to be touched by her or any other girl whose name isn’t Ella Harper. But I don’t say that to Jordan. Instead I repeat my question. “Are you ready?”

Considering she was mad that I was late, I expect her to say yes, but she doesn’t. “We’re not going until you put on a gold tie.”

For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with this girl? “I don’t have one, and even if I did, I’m not driving twenty minutes to get it. Get your purse or whatever else you need and let’s go.”

She lifts her chin. “No, we’re taking pictures first. Mom,” she yells. “Reed Royal is here. We’re ready for pictures.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pray for patience. I’m not standing around like a mannequin so that Jordan can memorialize this farce of a date. “I didn’t sign up for pictures. I’m here to take you to the dance. That’s the deal.”

“The deal is what I say it is,” Jordan hisses.

“We both know Ella’s the only person who would actually honor this deal. The rest of Astor would tell you to go fuck yourself.” Including me, but I’m trying to keep my nose clean, so I try to keep the insults to a minimum. “I’m here. I’m willing to take you to the dance. I’ll sit with you during dinner and give you my bag of chips to buy whatever the hell you want. But that’s it. We can either keep arguing for the next two hours or we can haul ass to the party. We might even make it in time for dinner if we move.”

“I deserve a picture,” she insists.

As if on cue, Mrs. Carrington pops around the corner with Mr. Carrington, who’s carrying a camera.

I sigh. If I don’t give in, my guess is we’re going to be here all night. “Fine. Take your picture and let’s go.”

“Five pictures.”

“One.”

Her mother’s face is a picture of confusion. “Well, perhaps we could take a few by the mantle,” she suggests quietly.

“We’ll start there,” Jordan agrees.

“Just a couple ground rules,” I murmur so I don’t embarrass her in front of her parents. They’re already wondering what in the hell is going on. “We’re not kissing, hugging, or doing couple shit in this photo.”

“You’ll put your arms around me and you’re going to like it,” she snipes and then grabs my sleeve to haul me snug up to her side.

Calmly, I pull the fine wool out of her grasp. “Be careful. Tom Ford isn’t cheap.” The tux is custom fit. Every year, we get a new one. Dad’s a big believer in dressing for the occasion.

“Are you ready?” Mrs. Carrington asks, gesturing for her husband to come forward with the camera.

After a little maneuvering where Jordan tries to grind her ass against my dick and I try to avoid even our clothes coming into contact, the pictures are taken and we’re at the door.

Mark Carrington clears his throat loudly as we’re about to leave. “Mr. Royal, I don’t approve of my daughter’s choice of dates given your current situation, but I also want her to be happy.”

“Dad,” Jordan protests.

Her father ignores her and looks me square in the eye. I respect that.

“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “She’ll be home by ten.”

I duck out the door and jog down the steps, with Jordan huffing her displeasure behind me.

“The party doesn’t end until midnight, asshole.”

I hold the car door open for her. “Too bad I told your dad you’d be home earlier, then.”

“And then there’s the after party,” she says between clenched teeth.

I wait for her to get her legs inside the truck and stare off into the distance. The skirt on her dress is so short that her panties would show, and it’s not something I care to see.

“I signed up for one Winter Formal,” I retort as I slam the door.

“Are you going to be like this the whole night?” Jordan demands as I settle into the driver’s seat.

“Yup.”

“That’s not within the spirit of the deal.”

“Your deal is with Ella, not me. I’m doing the bare minimum here.”

“You’re the worst. You and that trash deserve each other.”

I slam on the brakes halfway down the driveway. My efforts at being nice have their limit and they stop at any insults toward Ella. “Call her trash and the date is off. I’ll haul you out of the Rover and leave you on the side of the road.”

“You would not,” she says indignantly.

“I so would.” In fact, I’d love to do it.

“You should be grateful I’m even being seen with you.”

“Really? If it wasn’t for you, I’d be with Ella right now.”

“Just...” She sputters. “Just drive.”

Some small part of her must realize I’m nearing the end of my rope. I release the brake and ease into traffic. It’s ten to seven. I wonder if dinner’s been served yet. Has Wade won any chips for Ella? He’s kind of a shit poker player. Ella’s probably not very good, either. Her face is too expressive. And Easton’s too undisciplined.

I press harder on the gas.

The country club gates never looked so welcoming. When I pull up, the valet’s so bored by the lack of traffic, he’s almost sleeping. At the slamming of my car door, he jerks to his feet and runs over to help Jordan out. She must be giving him a good view of her crotch given the way his eyes bulge out of his face.

When we walk inside, the front table is abandoned.

“I can’t believe no one’s here to give me my chips,” Jordan exclaims.

Before she can make a scene, I reach over the table, find a box and pull two sacks of chips out. Shoving them into her hands, I say, “Here.”

Then I push her, none too gently, toward the casino doors. Heads turn as she enters, which is probably just what she intended, because her shoulders straighten and her face gets this weird satisfied expression.

My eyes scan the room looking for Ella. I spot her laughing in the far corner as Wade whispers something in her ear. Two other football players, McDonald Samson and Greg Angelis, hover to her left. Despite my designated role as Jordan’s date, the gravitational pull to be next to Ella is irresistible.

I leave Jordan standing at the entrance, basking in the attention of her classmates, to join the most beautiful girl in the room. The moment Ella sees me, she breaks away from the group, a smile filling her entire face.

I feel better already.

“Am I imagining things or can I see Jordan’s tits in that dress?” Greg squints toward my date.

“Why don’t you go check it out up close?” I suggest, sliding an arm around Ella’s waist. It’d be nice if everyone would go the hell away so I could be alone with my girl. I only have so much freedom left and I don’t want to spend it with anyone but Ella and my brothers.

I drop a light kiss on her lips. Anything more heated and I’m bound to drag her off to the nearest dark corner, lift that pretty skirt of hers, and do at least six of the million dirty things that run through my mind every time I touch her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be Jordan’s date?” Ella says.

“Don’t remind me. I brought her, didn’t I?” But as I look into my girlfriend’s stubborn face, I realize I’m not going to weasel out of this at all.

Wade gives me a sympathetic look. “How about we go play poker?”

With relief, I take him up on the offer. “That I can do.”

Before we can find an empty table, Rachel Cohen—Wade’s mid-day fuck buddy—comes by, decked out in a slinky red dress with cutouts at the side. “Wade, sweetie! I’ve missed you!” The pretty brunette flips his tie with her finger and smiles devilishly. “You want to find a quiet place to, um, catch up?”

And we all watch with astonishment as the guy who never says no stares down at his feet. Awkwardly, he shifts from one foot to the other as he struggles to find some way to let this poor girl down easy. “I can’t right now, honey. I’m about to play some poker.”

“Aw, okay. We can meet up later, then?” Rachel is apparently a dim bulb and doesn’t catch the signal.

Wade casts a silent plea for help in our direction.

Only Ella responds. “Oh, Rachel, I think I see Easton struggling with his cards.”

The brunette perks up. “Really? I was with him earlier and he said he didn’t need any help.”

“He’s embarrassed. Tell him that I sent you.” Ella pats Rachel on the back.

“Okay,” the girl says happily. She takes a couple of steps and then turns back. “If you want to join us later, I’m cool with that. See ya, Wade.”

We wait for a few seconds before turning on my buddy.

“Seriously?” McDonald exclaims. “That chick just threw herself at you and you said no? You lose your balls or something?”

Wade scowls. “No. I just wasn’t in the mood.”

“Dude, you’re always in the mood,” McDonald says.

Greg and I nod in agreement, but Ella is smiling broadly at Wade, as if she knows something we don’t. I guess it’s about Val? I kind of figured Wade was over that already, though.

“Fuck. Whatever.” Wade grabs Ella’s arm. “Baby, I’m your date tonight and I’m not abandoning you.” He drags Ella toward a nearby table, calling over his shoulder, “You losers coming or what?”

“
I
’m out
,” I tell Wade a bit later as I lose the last of my chips at one of the poker tables.

He frowns. “You only played a hundred bucks.”

“I gave the rest to Jordan.”

He grunts. “Is it worth it? Being shackled to her all night?”

“Who’s shackled? I haven’t seen her in an hour.”

It turns out my date might have a gambling addiction, because she hasn’t moved from the craps table since we got here. Not that I’m complaining. The less time I spend with her, the better.

“And even if she was glued to my side, yeah, it’s worth it,” I admit. Making love to Ella for the first time was the best night of my life. It’s an event I’ll replay every night for the five or so years I’m in my lonely cell. “If you wouldn’t do that for Val, then maybe she’s not the one for you.”

“I’m eighteen, dude. Since when do I have to find the one?” Wade frowns at his cards, and I don’t think it’s because he has a bad hand. He’s falling for Val and struggling with it.

I leave him alone because this is something he needs to deal with on his own. I guess eighteen is kind of young to be tying yourself to someone permanently, but I can’t imagine my future without Ella in it.

I just hope she feels the same way, especially since we’ll be separated for the next five years. Is she going to wait for me? I know it’s selfish to ask, but is it too selfish?

“You okay?” the object of my thoughts, the subject of all my desires, whispers in my ear.

I guess I’m frowning as hard as Wade. “Yeah, I’m fine. I spaced out for a moment there.”

Ella squeezes my shoulder. “Okay, well, I’m going to hang with Lauren for a bit. You know, since technically I’m not your date and your actual date is glaring big holes in my back.”

Ella’s only gone five seconds when someone softly taps my shoulder. I turn around to find Abby Wentworth standing there.

My chest instinctively softens at the sight of her pale pink dress and flowing white-blonde hair. What had drawn me to Abby was how gentle and delicate she is. She reminded me so much of my mom, and being around her was…comforting.

But now that I’m with a girl who’s so full of fire, I don’t think I could ever go back to one with the strength of a puff of steam.

And especially not a girl who would say all that shit about me to the cops.

The reminder has me stiffening. “What’s up?” I mutter to my ex.

“Can we talk?” Even her voice is delicate. Everything about Abby is so damn fragile.

“Got nothing to say to you,” I grunt, drawing startled glances from my friends. They’re all aware that I’ve always had a soft spot for this girl. But not anymore. The only thing I feel for Abby now is pity.

“Please?” she begs.

I get up only because I don’t want to embarrass her in front of everyone, but the moment we’re out of earshot, I pin her with an angry scowl.

“You told the cops I
hurt
you,” I hiss out.

Abby’s pale blue eyes widen. “Oh. I-I…” She visibly swallows and then her expression collapses. “You did hurt me!” she moans. “You broke my heart!”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. “For fuck’s sake, Abby, this is my
life
we’re talking about. I read your statement. You implied that I physically abused you and we both know that’s a goddamn lie.”

Another anguished moan rips out of her throat. “I’m s-sorry. I know it looks bad, but I swear to you I’ll go back and give another statement and make it clear that you never—”

“Don’t bother,” I snap. “I don’t want you to say another word, you hear me? You’ve already done enough.”

She flinches as if I’ve hit her. “Reed,” she whispers. “I…I really miss you, okay? I miss us.”

Oh shit. Discomfort wedges into every crevice in my chest. What the hell do I even say to that? We broke up more than a year ago.