“Which dress would you like to try on first?” Prince asks.
“You pick,” I grin and consent to being the center of attention while trying on dresses. It’s like Fashion Week came to Prince’s penthouse. I’m surprised he didn’t have them set up a runway for me to catwalk, and hire a bunch of photographers to document the event.
So much for doing my homework before I work tonight.
The entire time, the designers shower me with compliments. They call me “darling this” and “honey that,” telling me how “simply ravishing” I am, obviously trying to convince me to pick their dress. It’s crazy. It’s one thing to have men fight over you. Who doesn’t enjoy that battle? But these people? They’re fighting over my money. Erm, Prince’s money. And probably status. You’d think the Castle Hill Academy winter formal was the red carpet in Hollywood from the way they’re jockeying to get me to pick their dress.
Eventually, we narrow it down to the best dress from each designer.
“I can’t decide,” I whine. The dresses are all beautiful, but I don’t want to be the one to disappoint every other designer by telling them I didn’t pick their dress.
“I can,” Prince says. “The one you’re wearing.”
It’s a white gold nude gown with a plunging back and sweep train. The sheer bodice and rest of the dress are embellished with beads. I titter, “I do like the beads.”
“Those aren’t beads,” Prince says.
“Huh?”
“They’re diamonds and other precious stones.”
“Shut up!” I laugh guiltily. “How much does this cost?”
“I have no idea,” Prince chuckles. “We’ll take it.” He smiles at the designer.
She smiles wide in return, and the rest of the designers hide their pouts while packing up their dress racks.
I whisper to Prince, “Erm, what time is it?”
He checks his Bugatti watch. “Just past six.”
“Oh, shit!” I gasp and adrenalin rips into me. “I was supposed to be in the West Wing cleaning over an hour ago!” My comment draws scoffs from the designers and their assistants. I don’t give a crap what they think. “I left Mimi hanging!” I turn to run for the guest bedroom to change, then realize I’m still in the gown. I look at the designers frantically and blurt, “Someone help me out of this!”
The losing designers snoot, while the winning designer and her team rush over to help me out of the gown so I don’t destroy it.
“Calm down, Marianne,” Prince soothes. “It’s taken care of. I already informed Ms. Braunschott you would be unavailable this evening.”
“Who did you get to replace me? To help Mimi, I mean?”
Prince’s face twists into amused embarrassment.
I smirk, “You did find someone to help her tonight, right?”
“I can,” he offers confidently.
I shake my head in disgust as the assistants help me out of the gown. As soon as I’m free, I rush across the floor in my bare feet, bra, and panties. Before, when I was climbing in and out of gowns, I had changed behind a fancy French dressing screen so Prince wouldn’t see me in my undies. Now I don’t care. I feel too awful about Mimi getting left in the lurch.
I rush into the walk-in closet in the guest room and start putting on my French maid uniform.
“Relax, fairest,” Prince says, leaning into the closet to watch. He’s holding his smart phone to his ear. “I’m calling Ms. Braunschott’s office as we speak. I’ll have her send reinforcements to help out your friend Mimi.” He says it like it’ll fix everything.
I’m bent over attaching my garters to my stockings. I glare at him, “That’s not the point. I let Mimi down. I was supposed to be there to help her out.”
“She’s not answering,” Prince says absently. “I guess I’ll let it ring. Does she have voicemail?”
“I doubt it,” I grimace, pushing down my skirt. “You do realize, getting other girls to help Mimi means they’ll have to stay late, right? They still have to finish their regular tasks.”
He frowns.
“You didn’t think of that, did you?”
“I did not,” Prince admits.
Annoyed, I shake my head while tying my white apron behind my back. I’m dashing out the front door while putting my head piece on. Lucky for me it’s a quick elevator ride down to Mimi and my usual floor.
“Where were you?!” Mimi grumbles when she sees my trotting down the hallway. “I thought something happened!” She obviously means something bad.
“Sorry, Meems,” I sigh. “I got tied up.”
“By Prince? How tight did he tie you?” She titters with sinful implication.
“No-a! Not that kind of tying! I mean I was trying on gowns for the winter formal.”
“Just now?”
“Uh huh. He flew in a bunch of designers and their dresses from New York.”
“What?!” she gasps.
“It was insane. Like Fashion Week. I swear it took forever. I totally had no idea what time it was. I’m really sorry, Meems.”
“Did you pick out a dress?”
“I didn’t. Prince did. There were so many I couldn’t decide.”
“Right,” Mimi nods strangely, eyes narrowed.
I suddenly realize she’s jealous. I know she hasn’t picked out a dress yet. I don’t think Chase is exactly the thoughtful kind of guy Prince is. Mimi’ll probably have to actually rent one herself. I suddenly get an idea. I grab Mimi by the elbow and drag her down the hallway. “You’re coming with me.”
“Mary! What’re you doing!” Mimi laughs, stumbling along behind me.
“We’re getting you a dress,” I say with determination.
“What about the rooms?! We have to clean them!”
“I’ll make Prince take care of it.”
We’re back in his suite minutes later. I push through the door with Mimi in tow. The room is still crowded with the designers and their assistants, who are packing up dress racks. When I see Prince, I say, “Did you get a hold of Ms. Braunschott?”
“She never answered.”
“She’s probably busy,” I say. “Do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, princess.” He glances at Mimi.
“Hey,” she says shyly.
“Mimi, right?” he says.
She nods.
I say, “Prince, go find Ms. Braunschott and tell her Mimi and I are running late, but we’ll have everything cleaned in a minute. You got that?”
“Yes,” he nods.
“As soon as we finish down there, we’re coming back up here to find a dress for Mimi. Can you arrange for the designers to stay and help her pick a dress?” I smirk.
“I can,” he grins, realizing he’s off the hook. He claps his hands to catch the attention of the designers and their teams. “Everybody stop! We have one more dress to select!”
Mimi’s eyes beam and she gasps, “No way!”
I smile at her, “Way way. Let’s go finish cleaning our floor. When we’re done, we’ll get you a dress.”
“Fabulous idea,” Mimi laughs.
Chapter 38
It’s eight o’clock when Mimi finishes picking out a gown. The designer has to size it for Mimi because the dresses were all sized for me. Prince got my measurements from Ms. Skelter’s office before the designers flew out, but he didn’t get Mimi’s. They’ll have to scramble to make alterations and get her dress ready for tomorrow night.
I apologize to them fifty times for making them work late.
They tell me it’s their pleasure.
Prince mutters in my ear that they’re being well paid.
At least there’s that.
When everyone is gone, it’s past nine.
My stomach grumbles audibly.
“You hungry?” Prince asks.
“You have no idea,” I laugh. “I forgot to eat. I always have dinner at the Cave before Mimi and I start our shift. I never made it because you made me try on dresses!” I swat his arm in
fake irritation. “You could’ve at least offered to order room service for me and Mimi! Now the Cave is closed! What’s she going to eat?”
“I’ll have room service send her dinner in the Convent. I’ll call Ms. Braunschott now.”
While he does, I change out of my French maid uniform. I’ve been wearing it the entire time. I’m so used to it, it’s normal.
“You changed,” Prince says when I come walking out of the guest bedroom into the living room.
“Yeah. It’s getting late.” I’m wearing a T-shirt and the same crappy sweat pants I’ve been sleeping in for years. “Can we order room service? I really need to eat before it gets any later.”
“I may have made plans,” he says carefully and slides his hands into his slacks. He’s not wearing his uniform slacks and blazer like earlier. While I was changing, he changed into a deep teal green suit with jeweled lapels and matching pinstripe tie, a white dress shirt, black shoes, and no socks, or socks so short you can’t see them. I’ve never seen him without slacks that cover his ankles, but they’re uncovered now. Ooooh! Naked ankles! It’s like a Victorian-era porno around here!
“Oh?” I say. “Dinner plans?”
“Yes,” he nods.
“Erm, it’s kind of late. I have to work tomorrow, remember?”
“I do. I had expected we would be leaving much sooner than we are.”
“Don’t blame me, you’re the one who brought a million dresses for me.”
“I did, but I hadn’t planned on your friend Mimi—”
I interject, “Having to cover for me?”
“Yes, for that,” he smiles agreeably. “As for you working tomorrow, I can hire someone to cover for you, if need be.”
“No. You’re spending way too much money on me.”
“It’s what I do,” he smirks.
“Fine for you, but I feel like I owe you.” I sound pouty, but it’s true.
Prince takes my hands in his, “Fairest Marianne, you don’t owe me anything. Money is in my blood. Is judging me for having money any different from someone judging you for not having any?”
“When you put it like that,” I snort sarcastically, trying not to sound too offended.
“I didn’t mean it like that. That came out wrong,” he sighs in frustration. “What am I supposed to say? I’m rich. I was born this way. Am I not supposed to spend my money on the things that matter to me?” He obviously means me.
I look up into his sparkling blue eyes. They’re so full of hope it slays me where I stand.
“If you prefer, we can have room service for dinner and you can work your Saturday morning shift like you normally do. Or, we can do what I have planned for tonight. If we hurry, we can be back in time to get you to bed like always, and you can still work your shift. Say, midnight? That’s not too late, is it?”
How can I resist?
I ask, “Can I go like this?”
Prince looks at my T-shirt and sweats and tries not to smirk.
“Should I put on my leather jacket and jeans?” I ask sincerely. Those are my going-out clothes.
“I got you something for tonight.”
“Another gown?” I laugh.
“Nothing so formal.” He leads me back to my guest bedroom to the walk-in closet. Unzips a garment bag on the rack. “A little black dress. You can slip into it, fairly quickly, don’t you think?”
“I can, but, I don’t have any shoes. Just my Docs.”
“All taken care of.” He pulls a shoe box off the top shelf. The box looks like it’s made of leather. Gucci is stamped on top in gold.
“Is that real leather?” I ask, wanting to touch it but not, out of respect.
“They said it was,” he says thoughtfully. “Does it not look real to you?”
“Can I?” Curious, I reach out to touch it, but stop myself.
“They’re your— sorry. Yes, you can.”
I caress the velvety leather with my fingers. “Feels real to me.”
“I hope so. They said the lettering is 24K gold leaf, but what do I know?”
I give him a look.
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Listen to me, right? Always talking about money.”
“It’s fine,” I grin.
He pulls the lid off, revealing the cutest patent black leather pumps with stiletto heels.
“I don’t know if I can walk in those,” I say seriously.
“You don’t have to wear them. Go barefoot.”
“Wait, really?”
“Why not? I never wear shoes when I go surfing. I don’t even bring shoes,” he chuckles. “I just get on my jet barefoot and—” He sighs regretfully, “Sorry. I’m talking about money again, aren’t I?”
I laugh and wave a hand, “Don’t worry about it. Like you said. You were born this way, right?”
“Right. Will you at least wear the dress?”
“Sure. Why not. Is it from one of the designers from before?”
Prince opens his mouth to speak, wearing his usual snooty expression, stops himself, smirks, and says, “Walmart. I bought it at Walmart for $19.99. Went in myself. Waited in line like everyone else.”
“Did not,” I laugh.
“Do you want to hear the truth?”
“No,” I sigh. “If anyone asks, we’ll say it’s from Walmart.” I kick him out of the walk-in so I can change into the dress. When I walk out, I’m wearing the Gucci pumps he gave me. “What do you think?”
He’s sitting on the bed. “I think I want to fuck you.”
“Prince!”
“Sorry. It just slipped out,” he chuckles endearingly. “You wore the shoes.”
“They’re not much taller than my work heels, and I have to work in those. I think I can manage in these, as long as I don’t have to scrub any toilets.”
“None of that, I promise. Shall we?”
We take the elevator up a single floor.
I say, “I thought you lived on the top floor.”
“I do,” he says as the elevator doors open onto a small concrete room lit by a fluorescent light. He opens a metal door that leads to the roof. “After you.”
“Is that an effing helicopter?” I gasp.
“I believe that’s what it is,” he says, amused.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to Fifty Shades me,” I laugh guiltily. I maaaay have read the books more than once. How many times, I’m not saying.
“Fifty shades you?”
“You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Not really,” he shakes his head. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s a book. Fifty Shades of Grey?”
“Oh, that. I’ve heard of that. What’s that have to do with helicopters? I thought it was some old porn story for moms or something.”
“Who told you that?” I snicker.
“Probably some mom,” he winks. “Do they have helicopter sex in the book or something?”
“Erm, I don’t think it’s safe to have sex while you’re flying a helicopter.”
“Strange. I thought everybody did that.”
I frown, “Have sex in a helicopter while flying it?”
“You mean piloting it?”
“Yeah. Christian Grey is a helicopter pilot.”
“Sucks to be him.”
“Why?”
Prince smirks smarmily, “I’d rather have sex in back while someone else flies it up front.”
“Have you?” I blurt in disbelief.
He winks, “Not yet. Maybe we can change that tonight.”
“See ya!” Laughing, I spin on the toe of my Gucci pump and start walking toward the elevator.
“Joking,” he chuckles, grabbing my elbow. “Let’s go. We don’t have to have sex in the helicopter unless you really want to. In other words, only if you ask me nicely.”
I gasp huffily.
“Come on, strumpet. Dinner is waiting.” He winks and leads me to the helicopter and gets the door for me, helping me step up into it.
We sit down an
d buckle in. He puts the headphones on me and says to the pilot, “Nash, please take us up.”
“Yes, Mr. Lancaster,” I hear the pilot say over the headphones.
“I can’t believe this!” I laugh as the propellors spin faster and faster and we lift gently into the air. “I’ve never even been on a plane!”
“This is much more fun,” he grins. “Nash, circle campus for us, if you please. I want Marianne to get a good view.” He smiles at me, “This place looks amazing at night. They did a great job lighting it up for maximum effect.” He isn’t exaggerating.
“It’s like a storybook castle,” I marvel. “Straight out of a fairy tale. There’s the Convent!” I wave. “Hey, Mimi! Check us out!”
Prince chuckles and squeezes my knee, “Did I or did I not tell you how much more fun you make everything?”
“You did. Where are we going?”
“Out to sea.”
“Huh?”
“You’ll see,” he winks.
It doesn’t take long before we pass over downtown Castle Hill, then endless dark forests on our way to the ocean, then we’re over black water.
“Should I be worried?”
“No,” he smiles.
“Wait,” I gasp. “We’re not going to Maui, are we?”
“No, this bird doesn’t have that kind of range.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”
A few minutes later and not too far from shore, we start to turn a slow circle.
“Are we landing?” I ask, searching the empty waters below us outside the window. “I don’t see anything but ocean. Oh wait. Is that a yacht?! Shut up! It’s gigantic! Are we landing on that?!” I practically laugh.
“We are,” he grins.
“No way! Whose yacht is this?”
“My family’s.”
“Of course it is,” I snicker.
There’s a bump when we touch down.
Prince says, “We’re lucky the weather is so good for December. It wouldn’t be safe to land if the swells were too big.”
Nash the pilot is already opening the door for us.
Prince slides out first and takes my hand to help me out. I have to be careful stepping down in my heels.
“Thanks, Nash,” Prince says.
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 34
