Page 80

My laugh is a quiet, broken punch of air. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” I do look at her. And from the dark circles under her eyes and the gray hair sprouting at the root of her part, it’s obvious she’s exhausted. Stubborn, but exhausted.

“You still think I don’t know what I’m doing, don’t you?”

She pushes back her chair and stands. “I think you’re a foolish girl who I spoiled too much. Somehow, I convinced you into thinking that all powerful, handsome men are created equal. Now you think Royals are created from the same mold, but I’m guessing you’re starting to see they’re not.”

“You know what I think?” I ask, fists curling.

Her hands rest on the curve of her hips. “Oh, I’d love to know. Enlighten me.”

“I think you’re jealous.” My mother’s jaw drops. Speechless, for once in her life. I take advantage of the silence. “You’re jealous I did this without you. That I didn’t need your help getting into the Purple Palace. That I beat out every other girl in Forsyth for the position, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“Listen here, missy—” Mama’s eyes narrow, slitting like a snake about to snap up her dinner. A chill runs down my spine and I take a step back, crashing into a body who stumbles back at the impact.

It’s Danner. “Princess, I believe it’s time to leave.”

My eyes dart to the clock over my mother’s desk. Nine o’clock. I’m supposed to be back early, since midnight always seems to come swiftly in East End, and I’ll need to be… available.

Tomorrow is Pace’s day.

“Did you have something to say?” I ask her, squaring my shoulders.

She visibly gathers up whatever storm has been brewing in her eyes, shoving it down. “Go. Wouldn’t want to be late for your nextdeposit, would you?”

My blood turns to ice at the use of that word.

It’stheirword. The Princes. The thought of people here knowing it–understanding what it means–makes my spaghetti threaten to come back up. “No,” I say, swallowing thickly. “I guess I wouldn’t.”

I walk away from her, back and shoulders straight, refusing to show her the hurt I feel. For years, I watched her usher Duchesses and cutsluts into her office, offering patient words of wisdom regarding how to best deal with her fighters. When they cried, she’d soothe them. When they screamed, she listened. When they bent, she’d teach them how not to.

It’s the support sheshouldbe giving me. Not because of what Royal frat I belonged to, but because we’re family.

Or at least we used to be.

I barely remember sayinggoodbye to Lavinia or the ride home.

Home.

It says a lot to consider the Purple Palace my home compared to the DKS gym.

“How was your evening?” Stella, the ever-hovering presence, waits just inside the door to my bedroom. She frowns when she sees me. “Oh, Princess, what’s wrong?”

I wipe away one of the tears I tried so hard to hold back, working past the lump in my throat. “It was just hard seeing everyone—and then leaving again.”

“I understand that. Come,” She swoops me through the door, past the roaring fireplace and into the bathroom, “let’s get you cleaned up and changed.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my limbs feeling too heavy.

“Do you need a bath tonight?” she asks, giving my hand a sympathetic pat. “I’ve got some new salts that can help with the healing. It’s also got magnesium which can soothe muscle pain.”

It’s a sharp contrast to the cutslut lounge, but it feels nice to wash the sticky tears off my face with someone friendly nearby. Someone who’s aware of what I’ve been going through and doesn’t feel responsible for it.

“Today’s my day off,” I say casually, “so I think we can save those for tomorrow.”

I’ve come to understand the rhythm of the calendar. Lex, Pace, Wicker. Each of them have their own day of the week, passing me around in their own humiliating ways. Lex is all about the procedure–he just wants me to get pregnant–and Wicker may actually be the easiest, because all he wants is to get off.

But Pace is different.