Broken Prince
Page 15
None of those threats are what made me cave. No, it was his emphatic declaration that there was no place I could run that he couldn’t find me. Anywhere I went, he’d be there. He’d hunt me for the rest of my life, because, as he reminded me, he owed it to my father.
My father, a man I never even met. A man who, from the sound of it, was a spoiled, selfish jerk who married a money-hungry shrew while neglecting to tell her—or anyone else, for that matter—that he knocked up a young woman when he was on shore leave eighteen years ago.
I don’t owe Steve O’Halloran a thing. I don’t owe Callum Royal, either. But I also don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Callum doesn’t bluff. He would never stop hunting me if I ran again.
As I follow him into the mansion, I remind myself that I’m strong. I’m resilient. I can handle two years of living with the Royals. All I have to do is pretend they’re not around. My focus will be on finishing high school and then I’m off to college. Once I graduate, I’ll never have to step foot in this house again.
Upstairs, Callum shows me the new security system he installed on my bedroom door. It’s a biometric hand scan, supposedly the kind of security he has at Atlantic Aviation. Only my handprint can grant access to the room, which means no more late-night visits from Reed. No more watching movies with Easton. This room is my cell, and that’s exactly what I want.
“Ella.” Callum sounds weary as he follows me into my room, which is as pink and girlish as I remember. Callum had consulted with a decorator but picked everything out himself, proving that he knows absolutely nothing about teenage girls.
“What?” I ask.
“I know why you ran off, and I wanted—”
“You know?” I cut in warily.
Callum nods. “Reed told me.”
“He told you?” I can’t contain or hide my surprise. Reed told his father about him and Brooke? And Callum didn’t kick him out? Hell, Callum doesn’t even look upset! Who are these people?
“I understand why you might’ve been too embarrassed to come to me yourself,” Callum continues, “but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything. In fact, I think we should file a police report first thing tomorrow morning.”
Confusion washes over me. “A police report?”
“That boy needs to be punished for what he did, Ella.”
“That boy?” What the heck is going on right now? Callum wants to have his son arrested for…for what? Underage sex? I’m still a virgin. Can I be prosecuted for—jeez. I flush deep red.
His next words shock me. “I don’t give a damn if his father is a judge. Delacorte can’t get away with drugging and attempting to sexually assault a girl.”
I suck in a breath. Oh gosh. Reed told Callum what Daniel tried to do to me? Why? Or rather, why now and not weeks ago when it happened?
But whatever Reed’s reasons were, I resent him for saying something. The last thing I want to do is get the cops involved, or to find myself caught up in a long, messy court case. I can imagine exactly what would go on in that courtroom. High school stripper alleges some rich white boy tried to drug her for sex? No one is believing that.
“I’m not filing a report,” I say stiffly.
“Ella—”
“It was no big deal, okay? Your sons found me before Daniel could do any real damage.” Frustration floods my belly. “And that’s not why I ran off, Callum. I just…I don’t belong here, okay? I’m not cut out to be some rich princess who goes to prep school and drinks a thousand-dollar glass of champagne at dinner. That’s not me. I’m not fancy or wealthy or—”
“But you are wealthy,” he interrupts quietly. “You’re very, very wealthy, Ella, and you need to start accepting that. Your father left you a fortune, and one of these days we’ll need to sit down with Steve’s lawyers to decide what you’re going to do with that money. Investments, trusts, that sort of thing. In fact—” He pulls out a leather wallet and hands it to me. “Your cash for the month, per our agreement, and a credit card.”
I suddenly feel light-headed. The memory of Reed and Brooke together is the only thing I’ve been able to concentrate on since I left. I forgot all about the inheritance from Steve.
“We can discuss it another time,” I mumble.
He nods. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider telling the authorities about Delacorte?”
“I won’t reconsider,” I say firmly.
He looks resigned. “All right. Would you like me to bring you up something to eat?”
“I ate at the last rest stop.” I want him gone, and he knows it.
“Okay. Well.” He edges to the door. “Why don’t you turn in early? I’m sure you’re exhausted after that long bus ride. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Callum leaves, and I feel a pang of irritation when I notice he didn’t shut the door all the way. I walk over to close it at the same time it flies open, nearly knocking me on my ass.
The next thing I know, a pair of strong arms wrap tightly around me.
At first I stiffen, because I think it’s Reed, but when I realize it’s Easton, I relax. He’s as tall and muscular as Reed, with the same dark hair and blue eyes, but the scent of his shampoo is sweeter, and his aftershave isn’t as spicy as Reed’s.
“Easton—” I start, then gasp because the sound of my voice only tightens his grip.
He doesn’t say a word. He hugs me as if I’m a security blanket. It’s a chest-crushing, desperate embrace that makes it hard to breathe. His chin lands on my shoulder and then burrows in my neck, and although I’m supposed to be mad at every Royal in this mansion, I can’t stop myself from stroking one hand through his hair. This is Easton, my self-proclaimed “big brother” even though we’re the same age. He’s larger than life, incorrigible, often annoying and always screwed-up.
He probably knew about Reed and Brooke—there’s no way Reed kept that a secret from Easton—and yet I can’t bring myself to hate him. Not when he’s trembling in my arms. Not when he sags backward and gazes at me with such overwhelming relief it takes my breath away.
And then I blink and he’s gone, stumbling out of my room without a word. I feel a spark of concern. Where were the smartass remarks? Some cocky comment about how I came back because of his fine bod and animal magnetism?
My father, a man I never even met. A man who, from the sound of it, was a spoiled, selfish jerk who married a money-hungry shrew while neglecting to tell her—or anyone else, for that matter—that he knocked up a young woman when he was on shore leave eighteen years ago.
I don’t owe Steve O’Halloran a thing. I don’t owe Callum Royal, either. But I also don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Callum doesn’t bluff. He would never stop hunting me if I ran again.
As I follow him into the mansion, I remind myself that I’m strong. I’m resilient. I can handle two years of living with the Royals. All I have to do is pretend they’re not around. My focus will be on finishing high school and then I’m off to college. Once I graduate, I’ll never have to step foot in this house again.
Upstairs, Callum shows me the new security system he installed on my bedroom door. It’s a biometric hand scan, supposedly the kind of security he has at Atlantic Aviation. Only my handprint can grant access to the room, which means no more late-night visits from Reed. No more watching movies with Easton. This room is my cell, and that’s exactly what I want.
“Ella.” Callum sounds weary as he follows me into my room, which is as pink and girlish as I remember. Callum had consulted with a decorator but picked everything out himself, proving that he knows absolutely nothing about teenage girls.
“What?” I ask.
“I know why you ran off, and I wanted—”
“You know?” I cut in warily.
Callum nods. “Reed told me.”
“He told you?” I can’t contain or hide my surprise. Reed told his father about him and Brooke? And Callum didn’t kick him out? Hell, Callum doesn’t even look upset! Who are these people?
“I understand why you might’ve been too embarrassed to come to me yourself,” Callum continues, “but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything. In fact, I think we should file a police report first thing tomorrow morning.”
Confusion washes over me. “A police report?”
“That boy needs to be punished for what he did, Ella.”
“That boy?” What the heck is going on right now? Callum wants to have his son arrested for…for what? Underage sex? I’m still a virgin. Can I be prosecuted for—jeez. I flush deep red.
His next words shock me. “I don’t give a damn if his father is a judge. Delacorte can’t get away with drugging and attempting to sexually assault a girl.”
I suck in a breath. Oh gosh. Reed told Callum what Daniel tried to do to me? Why? Or rather, why now and not weeks ago when it happened?
But whatever Reed’s reasons were, I resent him for saying something. The last thing I want to do is get the cops involved, or to find myself caught up in a long, messy court case. I can imagine exactly what would go on in that courtroom. High school stripper alleges some rich white boy tried to drug her for sex? No one is believing that.
“I’m not filing a report,” I say stiffly.
“Ella—”
“It was no big deal, okay? Your sons found me before Daniel could do any real damage.” Frustration floods my belly. “And that’s not why I ran off, Callum. I just…I don’t belong here, okay? I’m not cut out to be some rich princess who goes to prep school and drinks a thousand-dollar glass of champagne at dinner. That’s not me. I’m not fancy or wealthy or—”
“But you are wealthy,” he interrupts quietly. “You’re very, very wealthy, Ella, and you need to start accepting that. Your father left you a fortune, and one of these days we’ll need to sit down with Steve’s lawyers to decide what you’re going to do with that money. Investments, trusts, that sort of thing. In fact—” He pulls out a leather wallet and hands it to me. “Your cash for the month, per our agreement, and a credit card.”
I suddenly feel light-headed. The memory of Reed and Brooke together is the only thing I’ve been able to concentrate on since I left. I forgot all about the inheritance from Steve.
“We can discuss it another time,” I mumble.
He nods. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider telling the authorities about Delacorte?”
“I won’t reconsider,” I say firmly.
He looks resigned. “All right. Would you like me to bring you up something to eat?”
“I ate at the last rest stop.” I want him gone, and he knows it.
“Okay. Well.” He edges to the door. “Why don’t you turn in early? I’m sure you’re exhausted after that long bus ride. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Callum leaves, and I feel a pang of irritation when I notice he didn’t shut the door all the way. I walk over to close it at the same time it flies open, nearly knocking me on my ass.
The next thing I know, a pair of strong arms wrap tightly around me.
At first I stiffen, because I think it’s Reed, but when I realize it’s Easton, I relax. He’s as tall and muscular as Reed, with the same dark hair and blue eyes, but the scent of his shampoo is sweeter, and his aftershave isn’t as spicy as Reed’s.
“Easton—” I start, then gasp because the sound of my voice only tightens his grip.
He doesn’t say a word. He hugs me as if I’m a security blanket. It’s a chest-crushing, desperate embrace that makes it hard to breathe. His chin lands on my shoulder and then burrows in my neck, and although I’m supposed to be mad at every Royal in this mansion, I can’t stop myself from stroking one hand through his hair. This is Easton, my self-proclaimed “big brother” even though we’re the same age. He’s larger than life, incorrigible, often annoying and always screwed-up.
He probably knew about Reed and Brooke—there’s no way Reed kept that a secret from Easton—and yet I can’t bring myself to hate him. Not when he’s trembling in my arms. Not when he sags backward and gazes at me with such overwhelming relief it takes my breath away.
And then I blink and he’s gone, stumbling out of my room without a word. I feel a spark of concern. Where were the smartass remarks? Some cocky comment about how I came back because of his fine bod and animal magnetism?
