“Twelve hundred dollars?!” I blurt, eyes widening.
“Twelve thousand,” Church corrects, pulling out a navy suit similar to the white one he wore to dinner the other night. It has a gray tie, a pink dress shirt, and brown loafers. I can see it’s been perfectly coordinated to match my outfit. “The party isn’t for several hours, but my sisters have hair and makeup people coming if that’s your thing.” He glances my way and shrugs one, elegant shoulder. “Don’t feel pressured though, you don’t have to.”
“I’d like to, you know, to keep up the ruse and all. If I have full makeup and hair, none of those Adamson dicks will recognize me.”
Church nods, and lays his suit out next to mine.
“So if we pull this engagement thing off, your parents will … do what?”
“They have enough pull at that school to get what they want.” He looks down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “If they believe we’re in love, they’ll do anything. They practically worship romance, that’s what so impossible about them. They don’t offer up favors for nothing.”
Church turns and leaves the room as I stand there and think about Disneyland, about how many favors he had to pull for that.
For a fake engagement.
Or … real feelings … maybe.
The Montague’s party is being held in the ballroom, this massive soaring dome of glass that looks over the dark expanse of the sea, the sun just dipping its head beneath the surface. The garden is lit with paper lanterns, and the guests are all dressed to the nines.
No wonder Church bought me a twelve thousand dollar dress to wear; I would’ve stood out in anything less.
“So, you’re Church’s fiancée, are you?”
I swear to god, I’m not ten steps into that door before a sea of glittering debutantes appear beside me, all of them pretty, all of them frowning. Great. Just great. As if noose-wielding murderers weren’t scary enough, I now have socialites on my ass?!
“Um, yep.” I wiggle my fingers to show off the ring, and the girls exchange looks.
“Interesting, considering we’ve never seen you before. Where do you go to school anyway?”
“Santa Cruz High School,” I offer up, because really, that’s not a lie at all. “Why?”
“Santa Cruz High?” the leader girl chokes out, like I’ve somehow personally offended her. “Where on earth is that?”
“In, uh, Santa Cruz?” I offer helpfully, and then Church is there at my side, taking my arm and leading me away from the pack of slobbering gold-diggers. Or … well, they’re probably all rich, but whatever. Close enough. “Who the hell were they?”
“Inconsequential,” Church says, and then he smiles down at me. “Did they berate you for stealing me away?”
“Are they your exes?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
“Most definitely not.” Church escorts me to the opposite side of the room, handing me a glass of champagne as we scope out the crowd. Everyone seems to be drinking, regardless of age, so I don’t worry too much about it, taking a sip and letting the bubbles settle on my tongue. “Do you see Mark over there?” he asks, and I nod.
There’s the douchebag himself, dancing with some pretty girl in a green dress. If it weren’t for the occasional phone I can see here and there, you might think we’d gone back in time by two hundred years.
“Some of his friends are here, too, as well as that Selena girl who gave you her dress.”
“Interesting,” I murmur, taking a sip of my drink.
Church parades me around the room, introducing me to the rest of his sisters—all of whom are lovely, by the way—and then circling back to his parents.
“Mom, Dad,” he greets, and they raise their glasses in a small toast. “I was wondering if we could talk to you about Charlotte’s attendance—”
“Son, this is a party,” his mother pleads, putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “Go dance, and we’ll discuss this after. I want to see you two waltz.”
“But I don’t know how to waltz,” I choke as Church sighs and takes my hands, pulling me onto the dance floor.
The live orchestra in the corner starts up as he lays a hand on the curve of my waist, curling his fingers through mine.
“Follow my lead,” he whispers against my hair, and then we start to move, swirling around the room. My dress is such a fairy tale concoction of lace and tulle that I really do feel like I’m floating, breathless from the ease at which Church guides me across the dance floor.
His amber eyes bore into mine, and I find that I can barely breathe.
What is happening right now? I wonder as the floor clears, the rest of the guests stepping out of our way, watching from the sidelines as we spin and twirl. His hand feels hot on my waist, his grip firm but gentle where our fingers tangle together.
My lips are gently parted, my hair fluttering in the breeze off the ocean.
The room is nothing but a glittering blur of dresses and jewels, a world away from anything I’ve ever lived or experienced in my life.
“You really are a natural-born leader,” I whisper, finding my body following the instructions of his without questioning it. The music rises to a crescendo, like frothing waves against a rocky shore, and the intensity between us heats up a notch.
“You like following my orders, Charlotte Carson?” he asks, giving me one last spin as the song ends, and the crowd around us begins to clap. I have no idea how to respond to that question, so I don’t bother. Instead, when Church leads me outside to the garden, I follow.
A new waltz starts up, and the other couples rejoin the dance floor.
Me, I end up being pushed against the side of the house and kissed with a passion I didn’t expect.
Church is so prim and proper all the time, sometimes to the point of being scary. But this? This is the kiss of a man who’s drowning and desperate to breathe again.
My fingers tangle in his hair; his tangle in my dress.
Our mouths dance a waltz of their own until the silver circlet the stylist so carefully placed in my bouncing curls falls out and clatters on the stone beneath our feet, reminding us both where we are and what we’re doing.
“Charlotte,” Church whispers, putting his forehead to mine, his hands curled around my waist.
“Church …” I start, but then we both pause at the sound of a door opening nearby. We exchange a look as he grabs my hand, and we make our way around the side of the house to find Mark and Selena laughing and feeling each other up.
They fall against the side of a fancy sportscar, kissing furiously, and within seconds, Selena’s skirt is pushed up and Mark is driving into her with a grunt.
Um. The fuck?
“Fascinating,” Church says, pulling his phone out to take a short video before tucking it away again. Seeing Mark and Selena together is weird, especially since they’re both on my list of suspects. But again, it could be coincidence.
We make our way back inside to find Church’s parents dancing to a slow, sweet song as they gaze into one another’s eyes. We watch them for a while, and when they make their way off the dance floor, they’re both grinning at us.
“You two are so cute,” his mother says, cupping my face in her hand and making me want to cry for some weird reason. “You’ll take good care of my son, won’t you, Charlotte?”
“I’ll do my best,” I whisper back, and she nods, stroking my cheek.
“That’s all we can ask of anyone, isn’t it?” she says, and then turns back to her son. “Okay, I’ll pull some strings and get your fiancée back into Adamson. I love you more than life, son.”
“More than life,” his father agrees, giving him a kiss on the cheek as Church grimaces and then wipes it away like it’s disgusting.
Deep down, I know he likes it.
“Shall we keep dancing?” Church asks, glancing my way. “After all, we’re engaged now.”
A smile teases my lips that I can’t fight.
“I’d love t
o dance, future husband,” I joke, and we take the floor for the rest of the night.
By the time Church and I head out to the patio, so I can sit in his lap and watch the sunrise, my feet hurt, and my heart is full.
Uh-oh.
Told you I had a crush on every boy.
“Of all the shenanigans you’ve pulled in the past,” Dad scoffs, unloading my bags onto the lawn in front of the headmaster’s house. I’ve been dealing with literal weeks of fighting with him. Whatever the Montagues did, it worked. But I definitely paid a price much higher than just a fake engagement to a cute boy. Archibald Carson knows how to work up my own personal hell, and trap me in it. “This has got to be the most outrageous.”
“I’m …” I start, but I’m not sorry, not really. “You wouldn’t let me come back here. What else was I supposed to do?” This is maybe the hundredth or even thousandth time we’ve had this exact same argument; I’m so over it.
“Fake an engagement to the Student Council president? I mean really, Chuck.” He pays the driver, and then turns to look at me with those blue eyes of his, the ones that are almost a perfect match to my own. “Does that sound like a reasonable course of action to you?”
I swipe my palms down the front of my Adamson blazer, my glasses parked firmly on my face, my newly shorn hair a tousled mess. Chuck the Micropenis is back! Although … maybe I shouldn’t be calling myself Chuck the Micropenis, huh? Maybe something more interesting like, Chuck the Undefeated. No, no, that’s lame, too.
“It does to someone who’s trapped in a place they no longer belong,” I hedge, and then sigh as Dad grabs one of my suitcases and storms toward the house. I suppose it’s too soon to ask if I can move back to the dorms. Yeah, definitely too soon. “And our engagement isn’t fake, we’re in love.” I choke on the words as I say them, but that’s the ruse, so that’s what I have to stick with. Chuck and Church, together forever.
“Sure you are,” Dad says, clomping up the steps and practically throwing my bag into the room. He whirls on me so quickly that I startle, backing up into the wall behind me. “Did it ever occur to you that, as your father, I have only your best interests in mind? That perhaps there was a reason I sent you away in the first place?”
“If there was, you could’ve told me,” I snap back, getting flustered. I may have gotten my way overall, but Archie is going to make each day a living nightmare, a new fight to be won. That much I can promise. “You can still tell me, and if the reason’s valid enough, then maybe I’ll leave willingly?” Doubtful, but there’s a slim chance.
“I hope you’re excited about the school trip,” is what he throws back at me, “considering its locale.”
“What school trip?” I ask, vaguely remembering the guys saying something about a senior getaway for the first week of school. That’s about all I know.
“The senior class at Adamson is off to a hot springs lodge for the week. I’ll see what I can do to make you comfortable, but you clearly won’t be swimming in the pools.” Dad gives me a look, like he’s so disgusted with me he can barely stand it. “I’d keep you home, but I don’t think that’s best for either of us right now. Besides, you’re the one that wanted to be here, so you’ll participate in all the school activities—including PE. I’m not making exceptions for you anymore, Charlotte.” Now that we’re inside, he uses my real name and somehow, it’s ten times scarier than hearing him say Chuck. “Gather your things. You have class tomorrow, and the buses leave on Tuesday.”
He storms out of my room, breezing past me down the hall to slam his door.
For a brief moment, I’m uncomfortable. But that’s about as far as the negatives go. Then I look up and realize that we did it, that I’m back where I’m supposed to be. A grin splits my face, and I step into the room, close the door, and turn on some music before I flop onto my bed and squeal.
Hell. Freaking. Yes.
If Dad thinks sending me on some hot springs trip with my friends is a punishment, he’s got another thing coming.
This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
And maybe, also, the worst.
I just don’t know that yet.
The first day of senior year holds a certain magic to it, this final hurrah if you will. As I step into the halls in my crisp, new uniform, the Student Council pin on my blazer, I’m flying about as high as I did that day in Disneyland.
“Hey Chuck the Micropenis,” Mark sneers as he walks by and hits me in the side with his elbow. If he at all recognizes me from Church’s parents’ party, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he just saunters past with his asshole friends while I frown after him.
“Want us to beat him up?” the twins ask, appearing on either side of me. And since it’s been weeks since I last saw them, I give them each a huge hug. Also, can I just say that I’d forgotten how goddamn good they look in their academy uniforms? Navy blazer and slacks, white button-down, champagne colored tie. Ugh. I can’t get enough.
“Not presently,” I say, straightening my own tie out and grinning at them. “I’m more focused on the fact that we only have one day of class before we get a school-sanctioned trip.”
“The seniors go every year,” Tobias says, nodding and then reaching up to ruffle his red-orange hair. “It’s some hot springs place in North Carolina, but it’s run by a Japanese woman. I have to say, based on the pictures, it looks pretty authentic.”
“You’ve been to Japan?” I ask, and the twins both shrug.
“Plenty of times,” they say, just before Spencer appears in the doorway, stabbing out a cigarette on the edge of a trash can and chucking the butt before Mr. Johansen catches him smoking.
As soon as he sees me, he grins, and I have to curl my hands in my blazer to keep calm.
“Hey Chuck-let,” he says, leaning in and brushing his lips to mine. One of the passing students catcalls, and Spencer flips them off. His turquoise glare swings down the hall, softening slightly as Church and Ranger come around the corner. The former is smiling, but the latter has that thundercloud look in his eyes. We’re going to have to get past what happened in LA, and move on, one way or another.
“Good morning, future Student Council members,” Church says, pulling a large tube out from underneath his arm. He unscrews the top and removes a rolled up bunch of posters, passing them out to the rest of us. They’re campaign posters, and not just for him, for all the guys. “It’s never too early to start advertising. Elections are in three weeks.”
“Why do we even bother campaigning?” Spencer asks as several other seniors walk by and give him knowing little waves. He nods his chin in response and turns back to his president. “We win every year. Hell, I’m the only person on this campus that sells weed. These idiots wouldn’t dare vote against us.”
“Have a little pride in your work, why don’t you?” Church says, and then he takes off, attaching a poster of his face to one of the stone columns. I follow the boys around until we run out of posters, hit the cafeteria for breakfast, and then fumble my way through my new schedule. I’ll admit, I piled on the classes. And I picked some hard ones, too. The old Charlotte had always intended on going light in the academic arena during her senior year, but during the past few weeks, while I was waiting for school to start, I filled out my college applications.
They scared me a little, I won’t lie.
It’ll be a miracle if I get in at all, and keeping good grades and challenging classes during senior year can only help.
After school, I report right back to Dad’s place, as per his request, and pack my things.
I don’t expect anything weird to happen at the hot springs.
And that mistake, that’s on me.
The hot springs place is so pretty it takes my breath away, this towering three story building with a blue-gray roof, shoji screen doors, and wrap-around wood porches that you only see in anime and manga. It’s totally worth the ten hour bus ride it took to get here.
“This place is insane,” I murmur as the
other Adamson students move around us, like we're rocks in a river. They don't jostle or bother us, no way, not their illustrious Student Council. I almost roll my eyes, but I'm too blown away by the scenery: there's a gorgeous Japanese garden with scattered ponds, bamboo, and stone statues. Even with the privacy fence that surrounds most of the property, I can see the steam from the hot springs rising up into the dusky sky, and I shiver. “It seriously feels like we crossed the ocean and ended up in Japan.”
“Pretty spectacular, right?” Tobias asks, draping himself over one of my shoulders. Micah does the same on the other side, and even though I'm sagging a bit from the weight, I like them touching me, so I don't complain. Spencer watches the three of us, but doesn't say anything, turning back to look at the Oiishi Onsen Lodge and Tearoom.
“Since I have you boys here,” Mr. Murphy begins, licking his finger and sliding a piece of paper off the top of his stack. “I may as well give you your room assignments.” He passes the first page over to Tobias who takes it with a dull, uninterested sort of look on his face.
“Oh, we're rooming together. How surprising,” the twins say in unison.
“And for you, Mr. Carson.” I take the next sheet and stare down at a photocopied map of the place with an arrow drawn in red Sharpie, guiding me to my room. Room 2B, I read, and then my eyes scan over to my roommate.
Church Montague.
I cock a brow as Ranger takes the next page and then exchanges a look with Spencer.
“Why am I not with Chuck?” Spencer snaps, and Mr. Murphy startles. Really, the nice guy teacher act is starting to get old. He blinks big, blue innocent eyes at us, and hikes his leather knapsack a little higher on his shoulder. I still have my list, and he’s still at the very top of it. Everyone’s a fucking suspect.
“Mr. Hargrove, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to put you two together considering your relationship is fairly well-known in the school. I assure you, your rooms are close together, and you’ll have plenty of—”
“Whatever.” Spencer grabs my hand and pulls me away, dismissing Mr. Murphy without even a backwards glance. “That guy is so guilty, I can smell it,” he murmurs, scowling as we approach the main building. All the students are staying in the main lodge, straight ahead, while the teachers have their own quarters on either side of the garden. Having Dad as far away from me as possible doesn’t sound like a bad idea for either us. Same with the other chaperones—like Mr. Dave for example. I seriously don’t even get why he’s here. Since when does the school librarian go on a trip for students and teachers?
The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) Page 28
