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

by A G Henderson

  White walls, white floors, white linen on top of black tables. It was probably supposed to make the few splashes of color—green plants and abstract pictures on the wall—pop and stand out.

  To me, it looked like an absolute nightmare to keep clean.

  Places like this catered to a certain clientele, and I hadn’t fit in even when our fractured family was pretending we weren’t broken. Back when I still cared about all the different forks and spoons, and wore dresses approved by Mom that cut off my breathing and dropped almost to my ankles.

  But those days were gone.

  I was unrepentantly me in a gray pencil skirt that showed enough thigh to tease without flashing, a black blouse, and comfy, gray Chucks that had a splash of light pink over the toe.

  “Did you say something about a burger?” she asked as one of the valets approached.

  He glanced at me, then Renata, and his eyes went wide. I didn’t even blame him for having to adjust his collar and snap himself out of a daze long enough to reach out for the keys.

  It wasn’t like I thought I was unattractive, although I swear my freckles became more apparent some days just to mess with me. But Renata was on another level. The body, the smile, the slanted, bedroom eyes that could stare into your soul.

  Her beauty was something that couldn’t be overlooked or downplayed. And it only made her that much hotter because she knew it.

  The same way she knew the poor guy in front of us was a minute away from wagging his tongue and begging for a scrap of attention. Her smirk gave her away.

  Figuring I’d put him out of his misery, I jingled the keys. When his focus snapped to my face, I gave him one of my best glares for fun. “Not a scratch,” I said. “I’d hate to have to tell your boss that my friend and I were harassed upon arrival.”

  He paled, gingerly taking the keys from my fingers before almost sprinting to the Jeep. The slow crawl he drove at had me holding in another round of wild laughter.

  Renata elbowed me as we waltzed through the frosted, double doors. “Careful there, Little Brennan, your inner rich bitch is showing.”

  I endured the variety of looks my visible sleeve of tattoos garnered the same way I always did. By reminding myself that the people who took in my outward appearance and called me names under their breath or sneered were falling right into the trap I’d set.

  They proved they didn’t deserve to know who I was beneath the ink and revealed skin.

  On that note, they could take their opinions, cover them in ghost pepper hot sauce, and go fuck themselves.

  Dismissing them completely, I looped my arm into the crook of Renata’s elbow. “He needed a reality check, and I was feeling gracious. But if you want, I can go give him the invitation to hump your leg like he’d been two seconds away from doing.”

  “It is what it is.” Renata tossed finger waves to several well-dressed trophy wives as we approached the bar to wait on my parents. We slid onto the stools side by side. “I turn men into dogs often. Don’t diss my only superpower. I worked hard for it.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call spending hours in front of a mirror each day hard work.”

  I was mostly giving her shit. Today was the first time it had taken her forever to get ready.

  Renata flashed a small smile. “That’s because you don’t have to worry about spies sending a report on your appearance up the chain of command.”

  Her smile faded. She glanced down, picking at the polish on her nail. My serious shit detector buzzed as I leaned in, carefully inspecting the false neutrality on her face.

  I covered her hand with mine before she peeled the polish completely. “What are you talking about? What spies?”

  She took a deep breath, and I watched her seal away the worst of whatever had been on her mind. “The rich and powerful can be pretty uptight about appearances,” she said after another moment passed. “Daddy wouldn’t be any different, except he treats it like a religion. Therefore, anytime I don’t look put together is a sin in his eyes, and he’ll get on my case about it big time.”

  “That’s...kind of familiar,” I admitted, surprising myself. “For a while, Mom had it in her head that I needed to be a size zero. She didn’t get the hint that I needed more than carrots and celery until I got lightheaded one day and almost passed out.”

  Renata sighed. “Huh, I think I dislike her already. But damn if I didn’t wish that would work in my case.” The bartender plopped a mimosa in front of her before I could protest. She winked at the older man. “You’re the best, Henry.”

  “Hold up a minute. You’re—”

  “Underage?” Her brow lifted and she took a sip, letting out a contented sigh. “I’ve got a trust fund big enough to buy this place a hundred times over. And if I plan on keeping that trust fund, I toe the line appearance-wise when I’m in public.”

  “And you’re...okay with that? With being owned?”

  “Like I said, it is what it is.” Renata waved a hand at herself. “Do I look like the kind of girl that’s about to work a nine to five flipping burgers or filing paperwork?” She scoffed. “With these nails? I don’t think so. The day I turn twenty-one, I’ll be able to give him my ass to kiss. Until then, I’ll be the most put-together bitch in the city. Except for at the campus since he can’t touch me there anyway.”

  “What makes the school a safe haven?”

  “Oh, you know. Just the fact that everybody there knows better than to fuck with me.”

  I laughed as she drained the rest of her drink. Before I could launch an inquisition into what exactly made her so secure in that belief, her eyes sharpened.

  “So,” she started, fingers tapping the edge of her empty glass. “You and Ambrose. I need all the dirty, sordid details, starting with what does he kiss like these days?”

  “We didn’t kiss, I can tell you that much.”

  Old memories assaulted me. I thought about the barest brush against my lips before laughter brayed all around me, followed by a shove in the dark I could never forget. The scream that got trapped in my throat due to sheer pain.

  I shook my head as something else she said occurred to me.

  Frowning, my eyes sliced to Renata. “What did you mean by these days?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. We dated like, ages ago, but it went nowhere.”

  Was I turning green? God, I hoped not. A classy restaurant wasn’t the best place to turn into a raging monster.

  “That boy knew how to kiss though,” she added. “I have to give him that.”

  I choked over my response and then it was too late to dive into. Motion at the entrance caught my eye. I turned in time to see Dad walking in wearing a navy blue, charcoal suit. My hand lifted automatically and he spotted us, giving a clipped nod that was more than I expected.

  Since my life was starting to resemble an episode of the Twilight Zone, I’d been fully prepared to take drastic measures if he’d thrown out a wide smile.

  His jaw hardened when he spotted the girl beside me who’d managed to snag a second mimosa in the time my head was turned, but I’d stopped focusing on him after our quick greeting.

  Mom had my total and complete attention.

  She wore a strapless, cream dress that swished around her legs and matching sandals. Her hair—the same strawberry blonde as mine—was loose and expertly styled in a way she hadn’t had the time or money for in years. She had her hand tucked in the crook of Dad’s elbow, and when she saw me, her entire face lit up from within.

  Maybe things will really be okay.

  I knew it was a mistake to think it. But there I was, allowing a seed of hope to grow.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  My body warmed, awareness filtering in. The air thinned. An incurable ache took up residence between my thighs, lingering no matter how tightly I squeezed them together to soothe it.

  Mom turned, lips moving as she spoke to someone behind her.

  I saw the next couple walk in—a tall man in an
expensive suit with a halo of dark hair and the raven-haired beauty in a black pantsuit at his side.

  Renata cursed at the sight of them. Then she kept cursing under her breath as they approached. They looked sort of familiar, although the woman had a take-no-prisoners stare I thought I would’ve remembered.

  Putting two and two together became irrelevant as another tall figure swaggered inside.

  Dark hair. Darker eyes. Sharp features bared like a blade. He wore black slacks and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up over impressive forearms. His veins were visible from here, and I stared at them as my body ignited because it was a better option than being cut open on the devastating visage that was his face.

  Ambrose LaCroix. The Tarot of Death.

  No matter how hard I tried to get away, he just kept coming back.

  The irritation that flashed in the bottomless depth of his eyes didn’t make me feel better. His palpable annoyance magnified my own, a feedback loop that wouldn’t stop building until I figured out some fucking way to stop the power surge between us without getting electrocuted.

  And I had an idea...

  It was just a stupid one.

  “Sweetie...are you sure that’s not too much?”

  All of thirty minutes had passed since our party was seated at a round table in the center of the dining room. That was all the time it had taken for the little digs she kept dropping after the introductions were done to become outright jabs.

  Look at all these veggie options, she’d said when we first got the menus, sending me a pointed look.

  Em, don’t you just love a good salad?

  They even have low-calorie waffles! I didn’t know that was a thing.

  Hint hint. Nudge nudge. Except she was across the table so she couldn’t actually nudge me.

  I’d ignored everything she said, keeping my irritation hidden behind a tight smile. Apparently, my actual order—chocolate chip pancakes, a three-cheese omelet, and Texas toast—was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She stared openly, a slight pinch between her brows as the waiter finished collecting our menus to the lovely tune of awkward fucking silence.

  Renata looked desperate for another drink.

  Dad had tugged his collar enough for it to wrinkle.

  The LaCroix family looked mostly curious, aside from Ambrose who sat at my side, so still, I wondered how no one else noticed.

  He was doing that thing again. The one where he quietly raged, containing so much violent energy it was a wonder a random fight didn’t break out just from the residue of what leaked from his pores.

  What was he so mad about anyway?

  We hadn’t clashed yet, so it wasn’t me for a change. What did that leave?

  “Emily Louise Brennan,” Mom said, cheeks coloring. She wasn’t alone. Embarrassment at being full-named like a child flushed my face redder by the second. “I know you hear me speaking to you.”

  Don’t make a scene. Be thankful she’s here to get on your case, even if she’s being completely ridiculous.

  The reminder helped soothe the old wound she was picking open. Mostly. It would’ve rolled off my back completely if we were alone. Except we weren’t.

  And with every comment, the self-conscious part of my brain latched onto the sheer perfection of the guy beside me, wondering what he thought.

  My hand smoothed down my front, and I knew my stomach wasn’t as perfectly flat as Renata’s. My inner thighs brushed against each other more than they used to. Stretch marks lined my hips and ass from where I’d grown into the body I had now. A pit opened in my stomach and I wished I never knew they’d been involved.

  I would never compare.

  “Emily,” Mrs. LaCroix jumped in, sparing me from forcing a response. “I’m interested to know how you’re liking Black Rose so far. All of us”—she waved a hand to indicate the adults—”are alumni, and I love to hear what things are like for the new generation.”

  Mom huffed, obviously annoyed that I hadn’t answered her. Briefly, I studied her face, looking for what I had no idea. A hint of the sadness that led to her making a potentially irreversible decision? Regret?

  I didn’t catch anything but an eye roll when Dad whispered something in her ear, and I did my best to put her comments out of my mind as I focused on Ambrose’s mother.

  Up close, they looked even more alike than I thought. Same deep, brown eyes that looked almost black when the shadows fell a certain way. Same midnight hair. Same pink slash of lips, although hers looked less severe than her son’s.

  Mrs. LaCroix had a seemingly permanent tilt to the edge of her mouth, like all the word was a stage and only she had access to the screenplay.

  Her brow lifted and I cleared my throat as I realized she was waiting for a response while I stared.

  My fingers played with the linen napkin in my lap while I thought for a moment. “It’s...extravagant,” I said, earning a polite chuckle from her and her husband.

  Mr. LaCroix slung his arm over the back of her chair as he leaned back in his seat, eyes bright. “You can say it. It’s gaudy and somewhat ridiculous. They used enough gold finish on that campus that it could be in a display case.”

  His blunt honesty caught me off guard and I laughed, nodding my head.

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought so,” I admitted. “One of my first thoughts when I got into the dorms was that I needed to leave my shoes at the door and maybe find some holy water to bless myself with.”

  A bark of laughter came from Mr. LaCroix. Beside me, the bowstring of tension holding Ambrose captive eased. He popped his knuckles underneath the table, and I wondered just how hard he’d been clenching his fists.

  And still...why?

  Renata recounted a story her dad once told her about going to school there and it sent the rest of the table on a trip down memory lane, sharing laughs and stories like they were still our age.

  I kept quiet, content to watch. Ambrose interacting with his family kept most of my attention.

  I thought back to that day on the pier when his dad came out and hollered at him, and Ambrose had gone stiff as a board. Whatever had been going on between them then was absent now.

  His whole family seemed incredibly close. They cracked jokes at the other’s expense and finished the other’s sentences. His dad never stopped touching his mom and they smiled at each other so often it made my heart hurt.

  Especially when I was staring right at the contrast of my own parents being cordial with each other but...distant.

  Don’t worry about it right now. Focus on the good things. She’s here, alive and well. You’re in college, chasing your dream. The guy you can’t get out of your mind has a devastating smile.

  Good Lord, did he ever.

  The normally scowling villain of my life had flashed so many smiles over the last few minutes that it was taking everything in me not to swoon or crawl into his lap to finish what we’d started.

  I had a splendid view of his strong profile, and when those pearly whites came again I almost released a dreamy sigh.

  Lucky for me, the waiter returned carrying a gigantic platter of food that he started handing out.

  “Hell. Yes.” Renata actually cheered when he put her plate down in front of her.

  I snorted, shaking my head at her. Then my chocolate chip pancakes were in front of my face. My stomach growled and I grabbed my fork. Usually, I’d start with the omelet, but I couldn’t bear to—

  “Sweetie, what were you thinking?” Mom’s shrill voice brought the table to a standstill. “You’ve already got that hideous stain going down your arm for the rest of your life. You’re never going to get a nice guy to look twice at you if you don’t at least watch your figure.”

  Panic and shame locked my heart in a cage and clawed the shit out of it. Jaw dropping, I looked up in time to see the scowl on her face.

  Please, I tried to tell her with my eyes. Stop. That’s enough

  My silent plea went nowhere.

&
nbsp; No one was talking anymore.

  Renata reached over and tried to take my hand, but I couldn’t make myself move to grab hold of the support she was offering.

  “Leave the omelet,” Mom continued, snapping her fingers at the waiter. “The rest can go back before—”

  “Heather,” Dad hissed, grabbing her arm.

  She pouted at him while I struggled to swallow the bile climbing the back of my throat. I wasn’t brave enough to look at Ambrose. The pity coming from his parents was bad enough.

  My eyes stung and I was going to ugly cry if I stayed here.

  But I couldn’t move.

  “Don’t give me that look, James,” Mom went on, oblivious to the crack in my heart that spread with every word out of her mouth. “You haven’t seen who she hangs out with these days. They’ve been a bad influence on her for long enough!”

  Ambrose made a strangled noise I’m not sure anyone else heard. The dark storm of his boiling emotions lashed me a second before he stood in a rush, those dark eyes burning as he glared. At me. More furious than that day at the party.

  “Excuse us,” he said in a deceptively soft voice, never looking away.

  He grabbed my elbow, grip bruising. When I didn’t stand right away, he pulled me out of my seat until I either had to accept tasting the polished floor or force my legs to work.

  My body chose the latter, and I followed in behind him as he strode out of the dining room, down a hall, and shouldered open an office door, much to the surprise of the man who peered up at us over the top of his glasses.

  “Can I help—”

  “Out,” Ambrose hissed, holding me tucked against his side. “Now.”

  The older man moved like his feet were on fire, swiftly vacating the room just in time for Ambrose to slam the door shut and shove me against it.

  His hand landed on my neck, thumb resting over my fluttering pulse. A snarl curled his lip. And I think I was just about to find my voice—to ask why the hell he was so mad at me of all people—when the first tear tracked down my cheek.

  Oh...he didn’t like that.

  Not.

  One.

  Bit.