A Royal Pain (The Royals Trilogy Book 1)

by Brown, Tara

  A Royal Pain

  Book One in the Royals Trilogy

  A Novel by Tara Brown

  Copyright 2013 Tara Brown

  http://TaraBrown22.blogspot.com

  eBook Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No alteration of content is permitted. This book is a work of fiction; any similarities are coincidental. All characters in this fictional story are b ased entirely on the crazed mind of the author and are not based on any human. Any similarities are by chance and not intentional.

  Cover Art by Desiree DiOrto Designs

  Edited by Andrea Burns

  Other YA Books by Tara Brown

  The Devil’s Roses

  Cursed

  Bane

  Hyde

  Witch

  Death

  Blackwater

  Midnight Coven

  Redeemers

  The Crimson Cove Mysteries

  If At First

  Second Nature

  Third Time’s a Charm

  Four Crimson Corners

  The Born Trilogy

  Born

  Born to Fight

  Reborn

  The Light Series

  The Light of the World

  The Four Horsemen

  The End of Days

  Imaginations

  Imaginations

  Duplicities

  The Royals Trilogy

  A Royal Pain

  The Blood Trail Chronicles

  Vengeance

  Vanquished

  First Kiss

  Sunder

  In the Fading Light

  The Seventh Day

  This book is dedicated to all the teen girls out there who have a lip gloss addiction, a penchant for Snapchats, and can’t go more than eleven seconds without touching their phone at least once. If you love sippin’ lattes and rocking leggings and texting your grandma #s, thank you. If you love pop music, taking selfies, and saying “totes,” and still haven’t figured out if hipster is really you, thank you.

  Teenaged girl problems come in all shapes and sizes and shades of color, but they are all legit!

  I know this because I have encountered some of the most legitimate teenaged girl problems in my day, and lived to tell the story.

  Mostly this is for Ezara,

  The Queen of the Teenaged Girl Problem.

  Auntie loves you.

  Why do I have such thin lips? Why does the god of full lips #Hate me?

  Chapter One

  Plumper

  June—so close to summer

  “So, I may or may not have had a MAC lip gloss in my pocket, but it wasn't like I was stealing it. It was obviously an accident. I have so many of them I didn’t know it wasn’t mine.” He didn’t seem to believe me so I tried a little harder. “I mean, it’s not like I’m poor.” I laughed, but he wasn’t buying it. My mouth was getting dry and my heart was racing, but I smiled like Sheila would have and shrugged. “You obviously have the wrong person.” I batted my newly done lashes at him and prayed he was into brunettes with honey-brown eyes.

  But the guard gave me a look like he was either going to pass out or pay me to stop talking. He didn’t say a word. He was doing some kind of Jedi mind trick, trying to get me to confess.

  Ha! Fat chance on that.

  “Look.” I huffed. “Just let me pay. I thought it was my lip gloss, okay? I have money in my wristlet.”

  His face went from bored to confused. “Wristlet?”

  “This.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a wallet. It straps to my wrist—get it?”

  He collapsed his head into his hands. “I saw you look around and shove it in your pocket. I saw you. Just give me your parents’ number before I call the cops to come and get you instead.”

  I swallowed hard, begging my eyes to water, but those whores weren’t giving me even a single trickle. So I did the only thing I could think of. “I have two hundred and eleven dollars in my wristlet.” I waved it in the air for him to see. It was so cute. He looked confused again. It made me smile to see him so lost so I pushed on. “I got it at Burberry for a steal—I mean not for a steal—it was on sale. I paid cash. Anyway, I have money and you can have it if you let me go.”

  “You’re bribing me?”

  “I’m offering an incentive for you to let me go. I have a party to attend later and this is cutting into my time for getting ready.” I glanced down. “I can’t very well go like this. It’s a pool party.”

  He exhaled loudly again. “You kids these days are one screwed-up bunch. You know what? I was going easy on you ‘cause it was obviously your first time, but that's it.” He grabbed his phone and started to punch in 911. “I’m calling the cops.”

  My heart sank. “554-279-3375.”

  He lifted his face. “What?”

  “My house number.” I wasn’t sure which one would be worse, Dad or Sheila. My only saving grace was Jess might answer and pretend to be Sheila. If he got the real Sheila, she would be pissed and use it as ammo against me.

  His face lifted as he checked his watch. “Wow, you broke fast. I can’t believe you caved on the first call to the cops. Seriously, forty-five minutes? I think that’s a new record.” Suddenly he was Chatty Cathy, as Sheila always says, and I was tongue-tied. I couldn’t believe he’d played me like that. He laughed. “Normally, the kids don’t talk the whole forty-five minutes though. If they do go that length of time, they usually spill something. Do you have ADD?”

  I gasped. “What?”

  He was smug as he phoned. “The fun thing about your generation is you kids crack faster than any other one. You think you’re all so badass, but you’re all the same—lost in that world of cell phone obsessions and tweetings and Ritalin addictions.” He held the phone to his ear with the evilest grin a man with a cheesy stash could muster, while I plotted his death. How would I do it? He was so chubby, honestly, leaving him a couple of burgers would probably be the end of him.

  When the phone rang, the gloat all over his face was disturbing. A shrill sound filled his ear as she answered. I groaned, actually aloud. It definitely wasn’t Jess who’d answered. But at least it wasn’t my dad. I had things to blackmail Sheila with.

  My stepmonster, Sheila, was there within minutes, stomping in, clicking her heels and all. She slumped down into a chair but only stayed seated for a minute before she was up and pacing. She was frantic and it was brutal to watch her display, agonizing over the wreck I was.

  The next two hours were spent listening to Sheila reiterate the tale of our family’s wealth and the fact I was most like my father’s brother, Jim, who had been a klepto at an early age. She never looked at me once. At least halfway into her nervous nattering and bragging to compensate for her and my dad’s great suffering, the security guard began to feel sorry for me. I could see it on his face.

  Sheila nattered on, “Finley has caused us great misery, always has. She is my stepdaughter, not my biological daughter. But what can her father and I do? You have to let them make their mistakes and pray they learn from them.”

  Bitch!

  “Mrs. Roze.” He sighed. “Like I said two hours ago, you can take her home. The store isn’t pressing charges. They just don't want her back here for six months.”

  “Fine.” She got up abruptly. “Good day.”

  He winc
ed and turned to me, mouthing, “Sorry.”

  “Whatever, dude.” I narrowed my gaze. “But I bet that two hundred is looking good right now?” I turned and followed her out to the car, attempting to block out the words leaving her glossy red lips like snake’s venom.

  “Finley, you are such a frustrating child. You think you can humiliate me like that? Or your father? Do you know what this will do to him when he finds out? You, young lady, are going in his office when you get home and confessing every disturbing detail of the past two hours.” She clicked along as though her legs were twigs and her shoes were glass. “Do you understand me?”

  “No. I won’t be because I recall catching you phoning in an order for a watch engraving for a man named Henry. I don’t remember our family having a Henry,” I challenged.

  She turned and smiled. “Do you know how easy it is for me to find cocaine in your room and call the authorities?”

  “I don’t do drugs.”

  “They won’t believe you. I’ll sneak it in the food and they’ll find it in your system. You’ll be in rehab before you can bat a fake eyelash.”

  “My lashes are filled, not fake. Unlike your boobs.” I looked at her grip on my pale-purple wristlet and sighed. “Can I just have my bag back? Please?”

  “You’re dead, kid. Dead.” She clicked harder and faster. I was sure she was grinding her heels into the pavement on purpose. She could use my misadventures to her advantage and get new shoes.

  I couldn't believe I’d stuck that stupid lip gloss in my pocket. Meghan was always stealing and getting away with it. I wanted the plumper and the new dress at Forever 21 and the shoes from Aldo. I needed my lips bigger to go with the summer dress and the wedges. Big juicy lips, that was my dream. Why hadn’t I just brought more money with me?

  Technically, it was Sheila’s fault. She’d ratted on me for overspending the week before and forced my dad to take my cards. It wasn’t my fault at all. She had impoverished me and forced me to steal.

  That was a thing, right?

  How did Meghan get away with it so easily hundreds of times while I get caught by the rent-a-cop the first time?

  It wasn't fair. I had the worst luck. I could almost guarantee Linna was blowing up my phone with all kinds of crap that if Sheila read, I would really be dead. My best chance at survival was if the damned thing died—a wish I had never actually made before.

  Sheila turned her head back and snapped loudly, “Are you punishing me for going back to work?”

  “Are you serious?” “You went back to work? Where did you work before you met my dad? It was Hooters, right?”

  “Get in the car!” She slammed her hand on the leather steering wheel. “This is what I’m talking about. You are so selfish sometimes. Why can’t you think about anyone but yourself? You know I’m having a hard time adjusting to work again—dammit—and I think I’ve ruined my new shoes. This is entirely your fault. Your selfishness knows no bounds. I don't understand how I raised my girls and you, and somehow you turned out so wrong.”

  Yes, my selfishness ruined her shoes, ‘cause that happened all the time.

  When she pulled into the driveway, my stomach started to gnaw at my spine, like when I tried the cabbage soup diet to fit into my junior prom dress.

  She turned back and smiled, almost like the one the fake cop with the stash had. “Well, go and do it or I will, and God knows what kind of story I can come up with.”

  “No. I’ll tell him about Henry.” I laughed in her face, calling her bluff.

  “Good.” She chuckled. “Go ahead. He and I are in counseling over Henry. He was a yoga instructor. It was a fling. The same kind your father was having with his secretary, Jolene.”

  “Gross.” A snarl pushed its way out of me. “I hate you.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” she added. “Clearly. Now go and tell him what you did.”

  “I will.” I laughed bitterly. “I don't care if he knows. What’s he going to do, honestly? Ground me? Who gives a shit about being grounded anyway?”

  She smiled wide. “Your bullshit resume is barely going to get you into an all-right school; it’s him getting you into a good one. You could always go back to the MAC store and ask for a job to work off your debt for stealing from them.”

  “God, you’re such a bitch sometimes.”

  She laughed, but it was more like a cackle. “Maybe you really are my daughter.”

  “I would rather die!”

  “Oh, silly Finley.” She leaned into me. “I can arrange that.”

  Why had I given the fake cop our house number? Why hadn’t I lied and given him my aunt’s number. She was way cooler. She would have laughed it off.

  I climbed out of the car and walked up to the house. When I turned back, Sheila was checking my phone. I started to feel sick again. She didn't have the passcode but my texts showed on my screen saver. I needed to change that.

  When I got inside, I ran for the phone in the hall and called Linna’s number.

  “Hello?” She sounded as if I were calling from Mars.

  “DON’T TEXT OR SNAPCHAT OR EMAIL. SHEILA HAS MY PHONE.”

  She was silent for a second. “Dude, are you calling from your house?”

  “Yes! I just got caught shoplifting at the Northwest Plaza. She took the phone and it’s screen-locked, but she can see any messages that come. Don't send anything and send out an emergency group message to the girls. Oh, and Carter—tell Carter. He was Snapchatting me earlier with naked photos. Oh, and Aaron. Tell him too. If she sees the Snapchat picture Aaron sent, she will show Dad. Bye.” I hung up the phone quickly and slipped down the hall to his office.

  I took a deep breath and remembered who I was. I was the girl who had conned every teacher every year for the last four to get better grades. I was the girl who had invented Stain-A-Melena’s nickname. I was the girl who coined the term “hottie from a distance” based on our soccer coach who had horseface when you got closer.

  The point was I didn't fear my parents. They feared me and my inability to care. I needed my inner badass, but she was faltering. She was scared of being caught doing something illegal. But the truth of the matter was that my badass behavior was only for the light and fluffy stuff. I would drink and tell Sheila off and skip school. I’d never done anything illegal before. I liked my bark-and-no-bite way of being bad.

  I stared down at my moccasins and smiled. I had made them cool. I was one of the first hipster girls at our school. I tossed my hair and tapped lightly at his door. “Daddy?”

  I could almost hear the sigh as he called out, “Come in.”

  My teeth clamped down on the inside of my cheek, forcing tears into my eyes. “Daddy, I’ve been accused of something terrible and Sheila believes I did it. She let some sleazy, sweaty security guard interrogate and embarrass me. She hates me.” I closed my eyes and let the tears well in my lashes, making my mascara run a little. I sniffled and glanced at him.

  “What?” His dark eyes were wide. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

  What Sheila didn’t see was that while she had been nattering on in the office of the chubby pretend po-po, I’d been coming up with a plan. I sniffled again and blinked hard, forcing a dark tear from my smudgy eyes. “Well, I was in the mall, looking at plumper, and I saw a couple of girls from school, Melena and her friend Stacia. They saw me and told me that the guy I kinda like was going to Melena’s house tonight. Which means they’re going to do it ‘cause Melena screws everyone. She left a stain on Danny Miller’s couch once when they did it there.”

  He gagged as sweat and desperation crept across his face. He’d never been good with daughters. Between his discomfort and the fact no one could talk in a circle like I could, he was doomed.

  I took a deep breath. “So I was all sad and walking around MAC, and I didn’t even notice I had the stupid lip gloss. I had money in my pocket. Since you let Sheila take my Visa and bank card last week, I haven’t shopped much, but I did have my allowance. I
didn't need to steal it. The man grabbed me and when I tried to explain, he was so mean to me. He yelled at me and then Sheila came and—and she took my phone and read my messages and said she was going to kill me and put cocaine in my food and frame me for being a drug addict.” I sobbed harder. “And she said she wished I’d never been born.” That one had actually hurt a little. She’d been my stepmom since I was a small girl. She technically was the only mom I’d ever known.

  He was horrified. I could see it on his face. The door to the office opened seconds later and Sheila walked in seeming smug. It only lasted a moment. She saw me sobbing and rolled her eyes. “You aren’t buying any of this bullshit, are you? She is trash, just like your brother.”

  I cried harder. The performance was becoming less of a performance. My dad shot up out of his chair. “What is wrong with you?”

  I forced my back to shake with heaves. Okay, the performance was back on.

  She stammered, angry in a whole new way, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? YOU ARE GETTING CONNED BY A SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD LITTLE BIT—”

  “SHEILA, STOP!” he shouted at her. “Give me her phone and get out of my office. I will deal with this.”

  “Deal with what? You believe her garbage story?”

  I peeked back at them, seeing his nostrils flare. She and I both knew what that meant. She was done. Once they flared, you weren’t winning any arguments with him. He towered over her and growled, “I can’t believe you would let some security guard accuse her of this. If it had been one of your daughters, this would not have happened.”

  Her eyes burned like bright-blue laser beams were about to shoot out of them. “MY DAUGHTERS WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS!” She turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door. Basically, it was an act of running away from the flaring nostrils, but he didn't know that. We all did it.