Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  Hands clapped, and a light turned on in the gazebo I’d passed without a second thought.

  I groaned at the sight of the girl standing there wearing an amused smirk across blood-red lips.

  Oh, just fucking great. I got to my feet slowly, biting my tongue to keep from making any more noises despite how much pain I was in. Because things weren’t shitty enough without adding a mean girl into the mix.

  I should’ve felt bad about my snap judgment. Hadn’t I just called Ambrose on making assumptions about people? No one liked a hypocrite. In my defense, she fit the category exactly.

  Heels longer than my arms. Skintight jeans. A crop top blouse that flashed a slim waist without an ounce of fat. Her rich tan, dark eyes, and voluminous brown hair made me think Italian royalty had come to the States.

  Gorgeous looks aside—I could admit stunning didn’t do her justice, no matter how jealous I was of her hair—it was the attitude she threw off that made me certain my assumptions were correct.

  The slight tilt to her head while she took me in, nose scrunched, screamed, I’m better than you and I know it.

  Plus, she didn’t even try to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of me, or attempt to help me to my feet.

  Did I even need to mention how she’d been waiting in the dark?

  Nice people didn’t do things like that. Nice people left lights on and stayed in plain view so the person they were waiting for would feel comfortable.

  Math wasn’t my best subject, but the formula added up to one thing.

  Mean girl.

  I cleared my throat, scraping together what I could salvage of my pride. “You know me?”

  “No.” Her smoky eyes narrowed. “But you were expected.”

  I was?

  She couldn’t have been out here long, not with her makeup staying so flawless. So she wasn’t lying about expecting me. But the only person who could’ve known how soon I would arrive was...Ambrose.

  It couldn’t be him. He’d made me walk, knowing about my knee. Why do me a favor after being such a dick?

  “Sometime today, New Girl.”

  I must’ve spaced out while musing about the devil. She’d moved from the gazebo to the door and stood there with her arms folded. Her impatient sigh added to the fake drama.

  The first deep breath I took was shaky. The second felt better. Now that I knew the threat was a basic bitch instead of an axe murderer, my pulse stopped racing.

  My shoulders eased and a smile formed. As sad as it sounded, this was familiar territory. I was almost grateful for her catty behavior as I stepped into her space.

  “You and me?” I wagged a finger between us so there could be no mistake. “We’re not doing this.”

  Cupid-bow lips parted. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Unless this is your idea of practicing for Broadway, you can drop the act.” I nodded when her eyes hardened, losing their false warmth. “Whatever big deal you probably are around here, I couldn’t care less. This school means nothing to me. It’s a means to an end, and in four years that can’t go by fast enough, I’ll gladly put it behind me and conveniently lose the alumni anniversary letters. Be the Queen Bee you want to be, and I’ll stay away from your hive.” I put us nose to nose and whispered, “But if you sting me while I’m minding my own damn business, we’re going to have problems.”

  She remained silent for a moment and assessed me from head to toe. I didn’t move or blink. I let her see that I wasn’t intimidated.

  Her glare eased. “He mentioned that you were aggressive. Talk about an understatement.”

  He? Ambrose?

  I hated the sudden urge to ask her who she meant.

  Almost as much as I hated how quickly my mind latched onto that information, greedy for details on who they were to each other.

  I don’t care, I reminded myself, wishing I believed it.

  To escape from those thoughts, I extended a hand. “Emily Brennan,” I said like she didn’t know exactly who I was. “Truce?”

  It surprised me when her cool skin met mine. This usually ended with more insults.

  “Renata Fontana.” Her lips twitched as we shook and let go. “I think you’ll fit right in.”

  “Great. Glad we got that settled for now.”

  Translation: I’ll still be keeping my eye on you.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she purred.

  Translation: You don’t scare me, New Girl. Know your place.

  I smiled.

  She smiled.

  They were both full of lies.

  “Well then,” she said, brushing her hands on her jeans. “I would offer you the tour, but it’s a bit late. I’m also not sure you should be walking around on that.”

  I didn’t bother looking down. “It just needs some ice.”

  “If by ice you mean amputation, sure.” She shook her head when I said nothing. “Whatever. Welcome to Black Rose.”

  Renata threw the door open and left me to follow her inside. The ceiling extended into the upper atmosphere and strands of crystal lighting hung suspended like gold stardust. Her heels clicked against oak floors and I was in the middle of asking myself how many staircases one building needed when she raised her voice.

  “Martina!”

  An older woman appeared from a side corridor wearing an honest to God maid uniform. I discreetly pinched myself and she didn’t disappear.

  Renata started towards the stairs. “Be a dear and fetch an ice pack for our newest guest.”

  The woman dipped her head and left.

  I shook my head, following Renata because I had no other choice.

  A maid. For a college dorm.

  What the hell was I getting myself into?

  Answer: nothing good.

  There was an undercurrent of mirth to Renata’s words while she gave me a quick overview of how things worked in the dorm.

  Not being able to pinpoint the source of her amusement drove me crazy while I tucked the information away.

  No boys allowed. Two people per room and each room had separate bathrooms. A chef was available on demand for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  “Don’t feel bad about putting Jean Paul to work when you have a craving,” she told me as we continued down the hall. “Most of us eat at the restaurants either around or on campus, and he makes a fuss when he doesn’t get to cook for a while. I have to say, his eggs Benedict is to kill for.”

  She talked about having a private chef like it was the most natural thing in the world. To her, maybe it was.

  “My taste buds are more accustomed to frozen waffles and reheated leftovers,” I admitted before I could snap my mouth closed.

  You’re in shark-infested waters, dummy. Don’t dangle any bait that’ll make the bite come quicker.

  I held my breath, waiting for her to use the ammo I’d provided. Our truce was bullshit and we both knew it. Sure, she’d been polite enough while explaining things, but I couldn’t let my guard down.

  Especially not while that amused twist stayed on her lips. She was laughing at something.

  Paranoia and a healthy dose of experience said I was the joke.

  “Nothing wrong with that.” Her response surprised me. It must have shown on my face because she laughed. “Frozen waffles and mimosas are my go-to hangover cure.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Part of that makes sense. The other not so much.”

  Renata stopped and looked at me expectantly. “Hair of the dog? Bite the snake that bit you?”

  “Are those supposed to mean something to me?”

  It was her turn to squint. “Alright, what’s your deal? The cupcake-themed sleeve you’ve got there says you’re not some goody-goody bitch, but I don’t get along with people who claim they don’t have a vice.”

  Was everybody on this campus so straightforward? It was somewhat refreshing. I’d take a full-frontal assault over being stabbed in the back any day.

  “I never said I didn’t have a vice.”

 
“Really?” she huffed. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

  As if I was going to admit to having almost a pound of weed in my backpack.

  “Yep.” I popped the P.

  “Fine.” She continued down the hall. “I guess I’m keeping my clove cigarettes to myself.”

  Don’t fall for it. Don’t—

  “You can’t get those in the country anymore.” Jeez. Me and my big mouth tonight.

  She glanced at me over her shoulder, silent laughter in her dark eyes. “You can when you know the right people and the price doesn’t matter. Guess who qualifies? Oh, right. Me!”

  Would I be the most likely culprit if they wound up missing? Rich, beautiful, well-connected. She had to have more enemies than I could count.

  Renata swung down another hall—this damn place needed a map—and let herself into a room without knocking.

  Queen Bee indeed.

  Once I was sure we weren’t going to get a pair of heels tossed at our heads for intruding, I allowed myself to marvel at the apartment. I didn’t call it a dorm on purpose. Dorms were glorified prison barracks with a dash of colorful paint and a closet barely big enough for a chihuahua.

  They didn’t have flat screens mounted in the living room—duh, since they didn’t have living rooms. They didn’t come with a full-size, stainless steel refrigerator. They didn’t have a nook with bay windows or enough room to dance without bumping into a wall.

  “Holy shit.” I whistled, already picturing myself curled up by the window with a cookbook. “Is this place for real?” I jerked my arm away when Renata pinched me. “Ouch!”

  She shrugged, unapologetic. “Now you know you’re not dreaming.”

  I wandered off while she went to the fridge, exploring the room that was going to be mine for the next four years. The dark sheets on the four-poster bed would have to go. One look at them, and I couldn’t help but think of dark eyes on a classical face that infuriated me more than any guy I’d ever met.

  Another window gave me a view towards the front of the dorm and down the hill towards campus. A potted plant, similar to the colorful array I’d seen in the living room, sat on the windowsill. Whoever my roommate was, she obviously had a green thumb.

  I hoped she wouldn’t be some insufferable rich girl, but I didn’t like my odds.

  When I returned to the living room, a bag of ice hit me in the chest and I barely managed to catch it.

  Renata laughed at my flustered expression. She’d kicked off her heels and sat with her feet tucked underneath her on the sofa. Her fingers were curled around the stem of a wine glass, and I couldn’t say anything about it because she kept laughing.

  And isn’t she awfully comfortable in someone else’s room?

  “Alright, what’s so damn funny?” I sat on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away as I could get. The ice pressed against my knee banished the worst of the pain, and I leaned back as the tension drained from me. “Do I have toilet paper stuck to me somewhere? You’ve been halfway to a giggle for like, the last hour.”

  Renata took a sip of her wine, pinky extended. “I’m just waiting for the look on your face when you meet your roommate. I’ve heard she can be a real bitch and a half. Probably the chairman of the mean girl society.”

  A sinking feeling settled in my gut. My eyes had been about to close, but they sprang open and settled on the bombshell beside me with dawning horror.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I said.

  “Nope.” She popped her P, mocking me straight to my face. “Get settled in, roomie. This should be an interesting four years...”

  9

  Emily

  As much as I wanted to hole up in my room for the entire weekend and decompress before classes started on Monday, I knew I couldn’t. There were too many things I needed to do.

  While I stood in the spacious, steamy shower, rinsing my hair before the crack of dawn, I went down the list.

  I had a meeting with my advisor later so I would know what classes to actually attend. That also meant finding the library and getting the books I’d need. Studying was never something to look forward to, but as long as I got into the culinary program, I’d deal with whatever else I had to take for credits.

  Transportation was pretty high on the list. Despite my lack of a vehicle back home, I had my license. I’d gotten into the habit of walking everywhere soon after the cast came off my leg.

  Was it painful? Undoubtedly. But my doctor had warned me that spending too much time without using it could make things worse or give me a permanent limp.

  Since I refused to let either of those things happen, I dealt with the pain. The weed helped with that too. Not that I was making an excuse for my habit.

  Black Rose was a different story. Situated in the mountains of Kingswood, North Carolina as it was, there were hills everywhere. Walking around the entire campus, much less anywhere else, wasn’t a feasible solution.

  I turned the shower off, fingers twisting absently in my hair while I stood there dripping wet.

  The letter was hidden under the dresser in my room, unopened. I itched with the need to call Mom and check on her, but I didn’t trust how I would react if she refused to answer me again. And I refused to call Dad—James, damn it.

  A black card and a college admission didn’t even begin to make up for the last several years.

  When I got out of the shower and wrapped the fluffiest towel in the world around myself, I realized another issue that superseded everything on the list.

  “Shit,” I muttered, staring at the clothes I’d slept in. The only clothes I had with me. In hindsight, packing more than weed and toiletries might’ve been prudent.

  I thought for a moment, gauging how gross I would feel putting the same things on again until I could buy some more outfits. It was a nonstarter. I could suffer through wearing the same skirt and tee, but no way in hell I was putting on dirty underwear.

  Since that was the case, there was no way I could wear the skirt either. It was deliberately short. Skimpy outfits made people underestimate me, and it made my legs look banging. Going bottomless though?

  Maybe if I wasn’t in enemy territory.

  Ambrose was on this campus somewhere. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, the fire he could start inside me wasn’t all anger. I needed all the barriers between us that I could build before our next encounter.

  Even then it might not be enough. Especially if the dream I had last night was anything to go by.

  My cheeks warmed, and I focused on what I could quickly do with my wet hair to distract myself from going there.

  After trying and failing for several minutes to do more than make a messy bun, I settled on grabbing my ball cap before I left and got the rest of me ready instead.

  Still wrapped in the towel, looking semi-presentable, I padded down the hall and knocked on Renata’s door. Asking her for anything didn’t sit well with me, but it wasn’t like I had a lot of options.

  “Bitch,” I heard her groan. “It’s Saturday and the sun isn’t up yet. Why are you even awake?”

  “I’ve got some things I need to do today.” I felt ridiculous talking through a closed door. “Can I come in?”

  “No.” She cursed again and I heard some shuffling. When the door cracked open, she peered out at me with sleepy, annoyed eyes. “What do you want?”

  I toyed with the edges of the towel, fighting the urge to peep over her shoulder. She’d kept her door closed and locked the entire time so far. I didn’t know if it meant anything, yet I was curious nonetheless.

  “Do you have anything I can wear?” I asked. “All I have is yesterday’s outfit and—“

  “Gross,” she finished for me.

  “Yeah.”

  She glared.

  I waited, eventually trying on a tight smile.

  “Don’t bother.” Renata rolled her eyes. “You suck at faking it and you look like you’re in pain or constipated when you try.”

  I le
t my smile drop. “Okay, good. That was exhausting.”

  “You seriously don’t have anything to wear?”

  “You really think I would be asking you if I did?”

  Another round of glaring passed with me not giving a damn.

  Finally, Renata looked me up and down. “Hold on,” she said, shutting the door.

  I tapped my foot to an unheard beat until she cracked the door and shoved a dress into my arms. I unfolded the slinky, black fabric, eyes wide. It looked on the longer end, but the slit going up one side made me concerned.

  “Why are you still standing there? Go away so I can go back to sleep.”

  I glanced at Renata. “You don’t have any sweats?”

  Her scoff kindled a flare of anger that I quickly smothered.

  She’s doing you a favor, I told myself.

  It would’ve been easier to remember if not for her smug, “Do I look like the type of girl that wears sweatpants?” Her lips curled like the word tasted foul.

  I stared at the dress. The dark fabric against her natural tan probably made her look like a goddess gracing the world with her presence. On my milky white ass?

  “I’m going to look like a ghost,” I complained.

  “You’ll be a ghost if I don’t get another five hours of sleep.”

  With that, she closed the door in my face.

  “Bitch,” I said to the solid wood.

  “You better believe it,” she answered me from the other side. “And you’re paying for the dry cleaning.”

  Of course I am.

  Accepting defeat, I retreated to the bathroom and tried the dress on. It was a bit snug on my curves, but loose enough that I could move around in it and the fabric was thick enough to hide my lack of undergarments. I turned this way and that, making sure the slit didn’t go any higher than my knees in different positions.

  Satisfied that no one was going to get a free show, I looked at myself in the mirror.

  The bags under my eyes weren’t as prominent, but they were still there. My blue eyes didn’t look any different to me. They didn’t say, Mom almost killed herself and I can’t tell if I’m off balance because of that, or because I’m not falling apart like I thought I would.