We turn a corner downstairs and go down a short hallway.
Prince opens the glass-and-wood door, “It’s all yours.”
“Wow,” I laugh when I see the fully furnished bedroom. It has a plush queen-size bed, stylish furniture including two chairs and low table in front of the entertainment center, bookcases with antique books and artful shelf nicknacks, and big windows that probably have a great view during the day.
Prince sets my books on the table and takes my clothes. He walks through another door in the room. I follow him into a walk-in closet. He turns on recessed ceiling lights, which are like tiny spotlights, and hangs my two outfits and shirts on the empty racks.
“We’ll need to fill this out,” he says, referring to the empty racks.
“Huh?”
“You need more than two sets of clothes in your wardrobe.”
“I have more.” I hold up my arms, meaning the leather jacket and band shirt I’m wearing. “See? Three outfits.”
“I mean more nice clothes.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought you said you wouldn’t be snooty for at least five minutes.”
“It’s been six,” he winks.
“You’re terrible,” I smirk and suddenly yawn again. “Sure is getting late.” I walk out of the walk-in, hoping he’ll take the hint and follow.
He does. “If you need anything, just whistle.”
I expect him to linger but he closes the door on his way out.
It doesn’t take long for me to get ready for bed. I know my way around the fancy shower fixture because it’s similar to the ones in the rest of the West Wing dorms, only with more nozzles. After rinsing off, I slip into bed and lay there with the bedside lamp still on. I sort of want to enjoy the view of my room a few more minutes before going to sleep. I really can’t believe I’m here. I’ve never slept any place this nice, not ever. With a contented sigh, I pull the covers up to my chin and snuggle in to enjoy the view.
Do I feel guilty I’m up here in the lap of luxury while Mimi, Luna, and the other work-study girls are stuck down in the drafty Convent?
You better believe it.
It’s totally not fair.
I’m honestly not sure how long I can do this. Tonight, sure. But after tonight? I’ll have to seriously reconsider going back to my old room where I belong.
A soft knock on my door startles me.
“It’s Prince,” he mutters, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet of the silent suite. The door has a pane of floor-length smoky glass set in the frame, but I can see his silhouette backlit by the light in the hallway.
“What?”
The door unlatches and he leans in. He’s wearing lightweight pajama pants and nothing else.
Oh.
My.
Gabs.
I mean abs.
They’re perfect. All of him is perfect. Sweet heat ripples through my body in sensuous waves.
“You warm enough?” he asks softly.
“What?!” I giggle, burning with blush.
“The thermostat. I turned it up a tad so you won’t be cold.”
“Oh, erm, sure. It’s fine.” I’m boiling, but it isn’t because of the thermostat. Gabs! I don’t know how I’ll ever get to sleep now.
“If you get too hot—” he trails off suggestively.
I’m ready to boil over, but I’m not telling him that. That might lead to me doing something I shouldn’t.
“—just whistle and I’ll come running,” he finishes, his voice dripping with sexual innuendo.
“Go away!” I giggle and throw a pillow at him.
“Just whistle,” he chuckles and closes the door.
I turn off my bedside lamp and lay there thrumming in frustration for over an hour. Sleep doesn’t come until my fingers get the job done.
<(—)>
“Rise and shine.” It’s Prince outside my room.
“Shine?” I groan from the lonely bed. “It’s pitch black out! Would you go away so I can sleep?!”
“It’s almost ten.”
“At night? How long did I sleep?”
“No, in the morning. You want me to come back in an hour?”
“Don’t come back until the sun’s up!” I moan.
“It is up,” he chuckles through the door. “The blinds are blocking it out.”
“What blinds? I don’t remember any blinds.”
“I’ll fade them back.”
“Huh?”
A second later, the windows facing outside lighten slowly. So does the bedroom door. Now I can see Prince’s silhouette in the hallway. Outside the window, I see the roofs of the campus buildings below and the surrounding hillside, but it’s dark like sunglasses.
“How’d you do that?” I marvel, getting out of bed to go look out the window.
“With my phone.”
“Why is it still so dark?”
“I set it at fifty percent on a ten second fade. It’ll go to a hundred percent after a few minutes. I didn’t want to blind you. Give your eyes time to adjust. Mind if I come in?”
“Sure.”
When he opens the door, bright light floods in.
I crinkle my eyes and hold up my hand to fend off the glare.
“Sorry,” he says and quickly closes the door, returning my room back to a soft ambiance. He’s holding a breakfast tray in one hand, his phone in the other, and he’s wearing his pajama pants again and nothing else. Gabs!
“What’s that?” I beam, looking at the tray of food.
“Breakfast in bed,” he grins.
“Awww. Did you make it for me?”
He smirks, “I arranged to have it made. If you get back in bed, I’ll bring it to you.”
How can I resist? Giggling, I dash back into bed and pull up the covers sitting up.
He carries the tray over and sets it over my legs. “Hot buttered croissants made fresh this morning, a selection of muffins including blueberry, blackberry and boysenberry, vegetarian omelette with shiitake mushrooms, and fresh strawberries flown in this morning from Argentina since they’re out of season here.”
“Uh uh,” I laugh. “You did not order those for me.”
He chuckles guiltily, “I had them ordered for me yesterday morning for today. This was supposed to be my breakfast. I already ordered a second breakfast for myself, and it’s on its way, but I thought you might like this while everything’s fresh.”
“How generous,” I snicker. “You’re too much, you know that?”
“Too much for you?”
“Erm…” I laugh and look at my food. My mouth is watering looking at the food. “Can I eat?”
“Dig in.”
“Have a seat.” I motion toward the edge of the bed.
He sits. In broad daylight, which is now streaming brightly through the windows, his tan skin is flawless and caramel smooth. The muscles underneath are equally sweet. Gabs!
I savor his body with my eyes while my mouth savors breakfast.
He watches me closely while I chew.
“What?” I titter nervously.
“Enjoying the view,” he grins, his blue eyes on mine.
“Whatever,” I laugh and bite down on sweet strawberries.
It took Prince maybe eight hours to make me feel completely spoiled. No, I’m not completely spoiled. You’re only completely spoiled if you get used to it like it’s normal.
I don’t think I’ll ever get used to living like this.
Chapter 33
The first Friday in December rolls in, bringing with it a blizzard of icy stares and glares from every Fundy girl I pass on campus. I swear, the tea about me living with Prince made the rounds faster than the Black Plague blanketed Europe in the 14th century.
Now everybody knows I’m a dirty witch living in sin. Next they’ll be dunking me underwater to see if I drown or not, or slapping a scarlet A on my chest and throwing rotten tomatoes and old eggs at me wherever I go.
And I’m like, “Hello, twenty-first century! We
’re just roommates!”
To me, it’s not even a big deal. I’ve lived with tons of hot guys in foster care over the years. Grayson, Kade, and so many others. Here, it’s like some kind of divine revelation. Gasp! A boy living with a girl! How could they?! Surely, this signals the coming of the apocalypse and the fiery end of human propriety!
From the work-study girls, I get a lot of “You go, girl!” At least they’re grounded in reality.
From the Fundy girls, I get nothing but hate and petty jealousy. You’d think I stole their boyfriend.
Last time I checked, Prince wasn’t dating any of them, at least not according to the gossip I’ve heard since getting here. According to the rumors, Prince is a manwhore. I already knew that. But he isn’t dating anyone currently. Now I live with him. We’re not hooking up. And the problem is…?
It’s not like the faculty cares.
Every time I pass Ms. Skelter on campus, she smiles politely and says things like, “How are your studies coming along, Mizz Angerman?”
I always say, “Great.”
When I report in with Ms. Braunschott about my maid duties, she never mentions anything about my living situation. She’s all business, and I guess me living with Prince isn’t any of hers.
The teachers don’t say anything at all.
Anyway, I guess the Fundy girls are just jealous I landed the hottest man on campus.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, because there hasn’t been any landing, ahem, and there are other hot men on campus I sort of have my eye on.
Men like Rob.
Honestly, I don’t know what’s up with him. We haven’t talked since his band’s campfire after party.
Did I piss him off moving in with Prince? Was Rob testing me when he told me to say yes? Did he really want me to say no? I can never tell with Rob. He takes mysterious to a whole other level.
<(—)>
“I need you to do something for me,” Rob blurts in my ear a week later when he catches me on my way to US History after the morning break. He falls into step beside me as I walk.
I gasp in surprise, “Geez! You scared the crap out of me!”
“My bad.”
“You sure know how to sneak up on a person.”
“Old habits.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. I need a favor.”
“Nice to see you too,” I sneer.
He grunts and rolls his eyes. “Can you help me out or not?”
I stop and search his eyes.
They’re the mahogany mirrors I remember from the band after party, and I have no idea what he’s thinking.
I tease, “Aren’t you going to ask me about living with Prince? It’s the talk of the town these days.”
“No,” he snaps. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Sor-ry,” I snark.
“Can you meet me at the lacrosse field after your last class so we can talk?”
“Can’t you tell me now?” I groan. “I have a ton of homework.”
“No. We’ll talk later.” His eyes dart around suspiciously.
“Erm, okay?” I crinkle my nose and shake my head, “Why’re you acting like such a creeper all of a sudden? Is it because—”
“Shh. Not here.”
“Cameras, right?” I smirk.
He nods, “Meet me at the field after your last class.” He spins around and walks off before I can say anything else.
Whatever.
I continue to History class and sit through that, taking copious notes about the framing of the US Constitution with my fountain pen. I’ve never done so much elaborate handwriting in my life as I have since getting here, and I’m getting a lot better at it. When I started, my personal notes were all printed, but now my leather bound Castle Hill notebooks are bursting with cursive. I kind of enjoy it, actually. Something about writing in looping script helps me focus better. Who knew?
On my way out the door to my next class, AP English, someone snarks in my ear:
“Hey, gutter slut.” It’s Elizabeth. She came out of nowhere. “Does Prince know you’re two-timing him with Rob?”
“What are you talking about?” I titter.
“I saw you talking to Rob before third period.”
If I didn’t know better, I might say Azielbeth here might have a thing for Rob? Or is it just her thing for Prince? I’m not sure. I glare at her, “Are you following me again, Azzie?”
She ignores my question. “If Prince finds out you’re meeting up with Rob, he’ll kick you out of his penthouse.”
“Who says I’m meeting with Rob?”
“I heard you talking to him.”
“Stalker much?” I grumble.
“Doesn’t change the truth. Prince won’t be happy when he finds out.”
I scowl, “What, are you going to tell him?”
“If you piss me off,” she shrugs a superior smile and examines her nails, which I notice are freshly manicured. The style is classic French, but the usual white free edge at the end of the nail is shiny gold, and there’s a precise silver loop circling around the back of the nail near the cuticle, leaving the center of the nail a perfectly natural pink. Very classy.
Did Azzie have a manicure? Crap. I don’t remember. I never looked that close. That would’ve been proof Azzie is Elizabeth. Eh, it doesn’t matter. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Elizabeth here is Azzie.
Elizabeth yawns, “You know, the more you fuck Prince, the more he’ll fuck you over in the end.”
“Is that what he did to you?”
She hmphs.
I want to tell her the truth hurts, but I’m not a bitch, so I walk around her and never look back.
<(—)>
When my seventh period drama class ends, I make my way to the fields. I’m not sure which one is for lacrosse until I see it’s the one without the football team on it. A bunch of Fundy boys are wearing helmets and pads on that field, and running plays. In one, I see an offensive player with the ball. He’s already in the process of getting tackled by a defense guy when he suddenly gets speared out of nowhere by a second defense guy. The second hit sends the poor offensive player flying. You can hear the smashing of the savage tackle from a distance.
I can’t help but cringe.
Whoever did the tackle is an animal.
Mr. Perkins, the PE teacher who made me run laps, rushes over and blows his whistle and shouts in the face of the second defense man who’s still standing over the downed offensive player. “That was a late hit, Montforte! I don’t wanna see that shit during practice, you understand! You trying to kill your own teammates?!”
Montforte? Does he mean Duke?
“Are you listening to me, Montforte?!” Mr. Perkins shouts.
Montforte says something, but I can’t hear it from here.
“What did you just say?!” Mr. Perkins bellows.
Another inaudible response from Montforte.
Mr. Perkins explodes, “Showers! Now! I will not have that attitude on my field, Montforte! Move it! Move! MOVE!!”
Montforte marches off the field, his slow walk the only sign of defiance. He takes his helmet off and lets it dangle from his hand. It is Duke, his dark hair sweaty and disheveled, his face a hateful mask.
Not wanting him to see me, I head to the other field. I see what looks like Rob, Jonah, and Skill sitting on the lacrosse bleachers. They’re tiny at this distance, but you can’t miss Skill’s scarlet hair, and I can make out Jonah from his giant form. No one on campus is as big as him.
When they see me, they amble off the bleachers and walk behind them.
I roll my eyes and follow.
The three of them stand there by the chainlink fence covering the bleacher backs wearing coveralls and muttering to each other.
I ask, “Why couldn’t we talk on the bleachers?”
“Too many watching eyes,” Rob says.
“Whatever,” I grumble. I fold my arms across my chest. “Where’s Tucker? Shouldn’t he be he
re too?”
Jonah says, “He’s in the kitchen. They’re prepping dinner for the Fundies.”
I nod, not caring. “Soooo, what’s this about?” With the other two here, it’s obviously not about me and Rob and whatever thing he and I do or don’t have going.
Skill says, “We need you to put cameras in Prince’s penthouse suite.”
“Cameras?” I scoff. “For what?”
“For collecting evidence,” Rob says.
“What kind of evidence?”
“Any kind we can get.”
Skill lifts up a leather Castle Hill book bag that matches mine. He opens it. “These wifi cameras are battery powered, and voice and motion activated.” He pulls out a handful to show. The cameras are tiny black cubes the size of gambling dice, but without the pips. Instead, they have a single little lens. “We need you to hide them wherever you can in Prince’s suite. Try to put them where they’ll see Prince’s face the most.”
“His face?”
“Yeah,” Skill nods.
“Why?” I’m not liking the sound of this.
Rob says, “Remember what we said about taking his family down?”
I sigh, “I thought you wanted to take down the Silicones’ families.”
“Who?” Skill asks.
“Elizabeth, Jacqueline, and Victoria.”
“We’re working on them,” Rob says. “We need you to get intel on Prince.”
“Intel?”
The trio of rough and ready Poor Boys all nod, sporting hopeful looks.
“Fine,” I sigh. “What else?”
Skill pulls out a wireless router. The same one I’ve seen in the Fundy dorm rooms. “Replace Prince’s router with this one.”
“How do I do that?”
“Unplug his and plug this one in.”
“Won’t he know it’s different? Like, it’ll have a different password or network name or whatever?”
“That’s all taken care of,” Skill says. “Just switch them out. He’ll never know.”
“What’s it do?”
“It’s a normal router, but I programmed it to capture data from the cameras. And other stuff.”
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 29
