Page 22 of Scarred Crown

Does she want me to kiss her? I’ve got to be reading this wrong. “Don’t be late again.”

“No promises. Old habits and all.”

Oh, I am more than familiar with how hard it is to quit an old habit. Before I can do something stupid, I let her go and step around her. “We leave right after dinner for our night drive. If you’re not at the vehicle, I will leave without you.”

On my way out of the tent, I fill a small plate with everything from the charcuterie board that’s been proven safe, and then I head for one of the dreaded common areas.

Staying in here with Jules is emotional suicide.

Nick

Fourteen years ago

People are paid to dress me. At my age, the slew of women in this powder room checking my hair, steaming my tux, and treating even the hint of a blemish as though it’s a national crisis should probably bother me. But if having them here means I don’t have to wrestle this piece of cloth in my hand into a bowtie, I’ll take their prodding.

The prodding I won’t take? Alex’s. My brother could try the patience of a saint.

Unfortunately, as per tradition, the three of us have been forced into the same room so the attendants don’t have to flounce from room to room to ensure we present ourselves on time for this diplomat dinner downstairs.

My phone goes off, and I maneuver around Bea, who is styling my hair, to grab it off the table.

“Who’s that?” Alex asks, trying to peer over my shoulder.

“Why does it matter to you?” It’s a text from Vicky asking if she can see me later. Since school got out a couple weeks ago, I’ve only hung out with her a handful of times. Most of those involved a bedroom and a lack of clothing. When I rub my face, Bea sucks in a sharp breath.

“The treatment.” She gestures to my face where she claims I’m in danger of getting a breakout.

“Sorry,” I mutter, replying to Vicky’s text that I have a royal thing till around ten.

“Was that Jules? Are you seeing her later?”

I toss my phone onto the settee next to me. Alex has been asking me a lot of questions about Jules the last week or so. Fucking annoying.

“She told me you have a girlfriend?”

Not sure I like the sound of this. When were he and Jules trading secrets? “Jules told you I had a girlfriend? Why would she tell you that?”

“I asked her if there was anything more happening between you and her. She said you have a girlfriend.”

I narrow my eyes. “Jules is my best friend. She’s been my best friend since we could walk. I don’t know why everyone’s obsessed with making it more.” Though lately, my feelings for her haven’t felt quite so platonic. Obsessive. Possessive. All consuming. Whether or not she’s with me, she’s all I think about, and I try very hard to make sure she’s around all the time.

“So, you don’t fancy her?”

“You know you’re not British, right?”

“Bellerive has British influences. I go to a British school.”

“You mean uni?” I mock.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” Alex says as one of the women helps him into his tux.

“Because it’s insulting. There’s no reason Jules and I can’t be friends.”

“Of course. But is that all?”

“Why do you care?”

“Curious. I find your relationship with her fascinating, and if I’d gone to an American college, my minor would have been in psychology.”