French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  Maggie was moving in with Samir next semester, and it would just be Mya and me in the dorms. As much as I’d miss having Maggie around, I was happy for her. I got it now. In our own ways we were each preparing for graduation and going out on our own.

  I’d loved the camaraderie of college—pregaming in our rooms and doing each other’s hair and makeup. As an only child, I’d never gotten to experience having siblings, and Maggie and Mya felt like sisters. We’d been through so much together, good and bad. Much of it had felt like one big party, and there was a part of me that wished it would never stop, a part that was still scared of the changes that would come.

  But it was time. I was actually starting to look forward to life after graduation.

  Today was the biggest day, though—Max’s final job interview. I wasn’t sure who was more nervous, him or me.

  If he made it past this round, they’d offer him a position in their investment banking training program after graduation. He’d spent most of the week studying in the library, preparing for any questions they might throw his way. I wanted this for him because it was important to him, but selfishly, I also wanted it for myself.

  If he got a job in London after graduation, we could stay together easily. Being French, I had the luxury of an EU passport and could stay in the UK. If he went back to the United States, things would be way more complicated. I’d seen how tough it was for Maggie and Samir to sort out their living situation, and while I didn’t have a political dynasty waiting for me, I couldn’t imagine myself living in America.

  London was the perfect compromise.

  I was still waiting to hear if I’d gotten an interview for an internship next semester, but if I did, maybe I’d have a chance of finding something more permanent.

  I had a future to plan for now.

  I dressed quickly, throwing on jeans, an Armani sweater, and Max’s favorite pair of boots. We were meeting for a good-luck breakfast before he headed to his interview. I put on minimal makeup and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. I snagged a leather jacket from my armoire, closing the door behind me with a thud.

  Max was always punctual and I was perpetually late, so I’d been working on doing a better job of trying to make it places on time. Or beat him there. Strangely enough, it was helping out in other areas of my life, especially with class. I rarely skipped anymore—Max might have worked out an incentive system—and I’d become a regular fixture keeping him company in the library. Sometimes I brought the latest issue of Vogue instead of a textbook, but I figured getting there was half the battle.

  Finals were just a week away, our project nearly due, the moment of reckoning upon us. For the first time in my entire academic career, I actually felt confident going into exams, and our project kind of kicked ass.

  I hit the staircase, the day of full of possibility, heading toward the cafeteria and stopped dead, the blood draining from my body.

  Pictures of me lined the walls. One picture, over and over again. It was one of the ones Costa had taken on his phone—easily recognizable by the fact that I was topless and he stood behind me, his arm around my waist. He’d taken it freshman year, whispering something in my ear about how hot we looked together or some stupid shit like that.

  I was going to throw up.

  Last year when this had happened, I’d been pissed off and a little embarrassed. Now my thoughts immediately went to Max. He would see this. See me half-naked, see the look in Costa’s eyes. And every time he looked at me, would he see this picture? What guy wanted to be reminded that his girl had fucked another guy? Especially when it was Costa. Especially when the whole school would see.

  This definitely wasn’t a coincidence. Everyone knew we were together. If someone were going to hit me, they’d just chosen the perfect time.

  I ripped the pictures off the walls, grateful the halls were empty, my nails like talons as every civilized bone in my body fled. My temper exploded until all I saw was red . . . and my fucking breasts taunting me in all their digital glory . . .

  Merde.

  Max.

  I struggled to calm down, to handle my temper so I could focus on damage control. As much as I wanted to explode right now, I needed to keep my shit in check so I could deal. Somehow.

  My hand shook as I grabbed my phone from my purse, typing a text to Max. I had to contain this.

  Sorry, running late. Not going to be able to meet for breakfast. Why don’t you just go ahead to Canary Wharf? Good luck with your interview xxxx. We’ll celebrate tonight.

  Since the good-luck breakfast had been my idea, hopefully he wouldn’t bother going to the cafeteria if I wasn’t meeting him. The last thing I needed was for him to see this on one of the most important days of his life.

  That was what pissed me off the most. Whoever was responsible for this—and I fucking knew it was Natasha—she hadn’t thought about how this would hurt him. All she cared about was taking me down. She wanted to mess with me? Fine. But not when someone completely innocent was caught in the crossfire.

  I stormed down the steps, letting the temper I was famous for have its way. I hadn’t confronted Natasha because I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me react. And if it wasn’t her, I didn’t want to tip her off to all of the drama swirling around me. But that was before. This was Max.

  Nobody messed with someone I loved.

  I hit the cafeteria, my gaze trailing the crowd until it locked on Natasha sitting at a table with a group of my old friends. Friends who’d been friends with Costa and me, and then traded me in when he got a new girlfriend. For a moment, I regretted not having spent more time on my appearance, regretted that I didn’t look my absolute best. And then that moment disappeared.

  Fuck it. Let her try to keep up with me.

  I walked toward her, using my “watch me” walk, and our gazes met, all eyes on me now.

  If there had ever been any doubt that Natasha was responsible for the photos, the blackmail, and everything else, it was gone. Satisfaction flashed in her eyes, and I knew she knew she’d gotten to me.

  I was too pissed to care.

  I’d held on to my pride for so long, and now I knew it didn’t matter. I didn’t care what everyone else thought of me, if they judged me or pitied me.

  Only Max mattered.

  I stopped a foot away from Natasha’s table. Five pairs of eyes settled on me. One smirk.

  “What’s your problem?” I snapped, hand on my hip, crumpled pictures in my other hand.

  For a second, Natasha’s smirk faltered, and I wondered if she’d been expecting this, if she’d been prepared to deal with my wrath. Stupid girl. She could do her worst, but I could outbitch anyone.

  Her smirk slipped back into place. “Looking at you, I would say you’re the one with the problem.”

  I didn’t even bother trying to keep my voice low. This would be all over the International School as soon as I walked out the door—if people weren’t already texting on their phones, Fleur’s losing it in the cafeteria.

  Screw it.

  “You’re right, I do have a problem. Apparently, I have a crazed stalker whose own life is so pathetic that she has to mess with mine. Would you know anything about that, Natasha?”

  Her face colored. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped. “It’s not my fault you’re such a mess.”

  “Really?”

  I was so pissed, so sick of everything that had happened the last few years. It registered through the red haze in my brain that the cafeteria had gone completely silent, that I had just given everyone a front-row seat to my drama, and I was only getting started.

  “Let’s go through all the things I’ve done. He was my boyfriend. For years before you even met him. And you were my friend.” I gestured at the table. “All of you were my friends.”

  Four pairs of eyes looked down at their trays. Only Natasha stared back at me.

  “I was your friend. I was so lucky to be the great Fleur Marceaux’s fr
iend,” she sneered. “Please, explain to me how we were friends because all I remember was you wanting someone to trail after you like a dog.”

  I flinched, her words hitting their mark. Fine, I’d been an asshole. That was fair. But I didn’t see how that justified her fucking my boyfriend.

  “So you had to get me back, didn’t you?”

  I’d thought it would hurt more, but I realized now that whatever sense of betrayal I’d felt was gone. I’d been a shitty friend back then. We’d been shitty friends to each other. I’d thought losing these friends had been such a blow, and now I realized it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I’d found Maggie and Mya, people who cared about me. And I’d found Max.

  “If Costa had been so happy with you, he never would have slept with me,” Natasha added. The smirk returned with a vengeance. Her voice rose. “Do you know how easy it was to get him in bed? I barely had to smile in his direction and he was taking off my clothes.”

  That one pricked my vanity but missed my heart entirely. Did I know Costa was an asshole that had probably been screwing around on me since the beginning? I did now. Too bad eighteen-year-old me hadn’t gotten that message.

  My eyes narrowed. “So that makes it okay, then?”

  Natasha rose from her seat, stepping toward me, her voice lowering. “You really want to talk to me about what’s right? Do you think I don’t know? Do you think I couldn’t tell when he came back to me, that he’d been with you? You’re going to blame me when you ended up doing the same thing? You fucked him sophomore year when he was my boyfriend. Don’t take the high road with me. Maybe you’ve fooled everyone else, but I see exactly what you are.”

  Well, that answered the question of if she knew about Costa and me. And explained a bit about why she hated me so much.

  “You’re right.” The anger sifted out of me little by little, the impending adrenaline crash coming. I was so tired of this, so sick of it defining my life. So tired of carrying it around with me, letting it be a part of me. I wanted to carve it all out like the poison it was.

  “I should never have gotten involved with him. What I did wasn’t any better. There’s no excuse.” And there wasn’t. I’d made a stupid, selfish decision, and the irony was that I’d hurt myself more than anyone, over a guy who wasn’t even worth it.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you that a long time ago. I should have settled this sophomore year. Tried to at least. I’m sorry I messed around with Costa when you were together. But the rest of it? This?” I raised the hand holding the pictures. “This stops now. You want to hate me, fine. Hate me. I don’t like you very much, so it’s not exactly a hardship to be hated by you. But the e-mails, and the photos, and the threats end now.”

  Natasha’s cheeks reddened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Right, because Queen Fleur said so. We’re all just supposed to do exactly what you want. You don’t give a shit about me or anyone else. You walk around here like you think you’re better than everyone else, like you own the place.”

  Her smile turned cruel.

  “Could you hold your head up if everyone knew all your secrets?” Her gaze trailed down to my stomach, lingering there, and I knew she knew, or at least suspected. I kept my expression carefully blank, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

  “Do you think Max Tucker would still kiss you, and hold your hand, and look at you like you’re perfect, if he knew just how dirty your past really is?”

  “Fuck you,” I snapped.

  “You don’t get it, do you? We aren’t even. We will never be even. I’ve spent years watching you flaunt yourself in front of everyone.” Her face scrunched up as pain filled her eyes. “Costa still has pictures of you on his phone, on his computer. Did you know that? That he looks at them? That he still talks about you?”

  No, I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what I felt. Disgust. Sadness. We’d been together for three years. Fooled around for another year. And together we’d wrecked every single thing we’d touched. She was punishing me for Costa. And I understood, really understood, that this wasn’t going to go away with a confrontation in the cafeteria. She wanted to see me destroyed, and she wouldn’t stop until she did it.

  “I told him about your new boyfriend. How is it that even you can bounce back from all of this? Sure, he’s a step down for you, but how do you keep finding these guys stupid enough to fall for your bullshit?”

  A new wave of anger filled me as I faced off with her. “You’re the one whose boyfriend is still hung up on another girl. You’re the one who found naked photos of another girl on her boyfriend’s computer.”

  I glared at her, holding her red-hot gaze with my own. “Here’s a little newsflash I found out a little too late: Costa is an asshole. He has always been an asshole. He might be good at hiding it, he might be good at convincing girls that he gives a shit, but he doesn’t. He’s cheated on you, and I can promise you, he’ll do it again. You know it, too. You wouldn’t be doing this if you were happy, if you were in a good relationship, if you were with a good guy. Want to know how I know this? Because this vendetta you insist on doesn’t really matter. I don’t care about Costa, or you, or any of it. All I want is for you to leave me alone.

  “You’re right. I have found someone. And Max is a million times more of a man than Costa ever was.”

  I could feel the weight of the entire cafeteria’s gaze on me, but I ignored them, all of my attention on Natasha.

  “Back off. You aren’t going to win this. And you know what, more than anything, I feel sorry for you. Rather than moving on, you’re wasting your life on this. For what? Costa’s not worth it. He never was.”

  Embarrassment filled Natasha’s face, and her mouth opened to speak, but I didn’t bother waiting for a response. I was done here. I turned and headed out of the cafeteria. At least I intended to. But then I saw him.

  Max stood in the doorway, dressed in his suit, looking hotter than ever, staring at me, his face completely unreadable. I offered a prayer to the heavens that he’d just walked in, that he hadn’t watched the colossal drama play out. That all he’d heard was me saying he was amazing. But then his eyes changed, and the emotions swirling in them were a punch in the stomach.

  He’d heard everything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Max

  I headed for the staircase, not sure if I was going to my room or hers, not sure of much of anything besides the need to breathe. I held the crumbled picture in my hand, the anger I’d felt since the moment I saw it on the wall building to a stunning crescendo. I knew Fleur was behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

  I’d never been out of control before, never felt this way. The fury gathering inside me had started with the picture and grown with every word that had come out of that fight. I needed a moment to get my temper in check. Needed a moment to deal before we talked. She had enough to handle, and I’d figured out that our relationship worked best when I could be calm for her.

  But I couldn’t get calm. With each step I took, I just became more pissed off, until I stopped and realized I was standing in front of my room.

  Fleur laid her palm on my back, her body brushed against me, and my eyes closed.

  “Max.”

  I shook my head, my voice raw. “I need a minute.”

  “I’m sorry.” I could hear the unshed tears and panic in her tone. “I’m so sorry. I know you’re angry with me—”

  I whirled around so quickly I collided with her chest. “I need a minute,” I repeated, my teeth clenched.

  I wanted to put my fist through the fucking wall. I hated Costa with every fiber of my being, and right now, Natasha wasn’t too far behind.

  And I was pissed with Fleur. I didn’t do drama, didn’t do secrets. And right now it felt like her entire persona was wrapped up in this shit. Why couldn’t she have just talked to me about this from the beginning?

  I gave her my heart, and what did she give me in return? She said she loved me, but what was love without trust
?

  I turned back, unlocking the room. I didn’t want an audience for this, hated that she’d had an audience earlier in the cafeteria. I hated the way everyone talked about her like she wasn’t even a person, like she was just a freaking drama for them to watch.

  Fleur followed me into the room.

  I sank down onto the edge of the bed, and she sat down next to me, our knees nearly touching. A minute passed, and then two, before she spoke.

  “How much of that did you hear?”

  “I walked in when you were going up to her table.”

  She swallowed. “Fabulous.” She reached out, touching my hand and the crumpled picture that lay there. Her voice was thick. “I didn’t want you to see it.”

  I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to push it out of my mind. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it.

  “I hate him,” I admitted, my throat raw as the words scratched their way out.

  She nodded. “Sometimes I do, too. Other times it just makes me sad.”

  I tried to clear my throat, tried to push the anger away so that the words would leave.

  “I didn’t know you guys hooked up after you broke up with him.”

  She paled slightly, and her voice became even smaller. “Yeah.”

  “For how long?” Knowing that she still had secrets from me, that there were parts of herself she refused to share, hurt more than I’d ever imagined, like someone was peeling layers of my skin from my body.

  “Pretty much all sophomore year,” she admitted.

  “Why?”

  I didn’t think it was possible for her to get any paler, but she did.

  “It’s complicated.”

  I made a noise of disgust. “You broke up over two years ago. He’s an asshole. He cheated on you. What’s complicated about that? I don’t understand why you would get involved with him again.”

  “Because my head was fucked back then,” she burst out, leaping up from the bed to pace the floor in front of me. “Because I made stupid decisions, and I was hurting. I don’t know why I do half the shit I do. Sometimes I just feel something and I act on it. Sometimes I don’t think until it’s too late and the damage is already done. I’m trying to be better about it, but I was a mess then.”