The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play Book 3) Page 9

  “You’ll have to talk to her eventually, you know.”

  “Debatable.”

  “She loves you, Ever.”

  He finally looked at me, and the sadness in his eyes made me want to wrap him in a warm blanket. “Then why did she leave?”

  I didn’t have an answer for him, so I said nothing. Sometimes it was best to let people feel whatever the hell they wanted until they were ready to listen to reason.

  “What do you two think of having a September wedding?” my mother questioned.

  Ever and I both offered distracted shrugs, earning our parents’ displeased frowns. The only one who seemed truly disturbed by our lack of excitement was Evelyn. My parents didn’t give a shit about my happiness.

  “Is everything okay?” Mrs. McNamara inquired. She placed her palm over my mine, and her warmth spread through me. My own mother was busy clutching the pearls she refused to let my father sell.

  “Kids,” my father said with a chuckle. “They’re probably more eager to plan their summer than their wedding.”

  “We were hoping we could just elope and get it over with,” Ever said with a smirk.

  The table suddenly rattling distracted our parents from the pain that twisted Ever’s features when I brought my heel down on his shin.

  “Get it over with?” his mother echoed slowly. Her concern and confusion couldn’t be masked, and who could blame her? She’d blown back into town to find her husband had started a new family, and her son was engaged at eighteen. Her world wasn’t simply turned upside down. It was mangled to hell.

  “Oh, dear,” my mother teased with a wavering smile. “I think he’s just eager for the honeymoon.” It sounded more like a question.

  Ever was still grimacing as he nodded. “Yeah, that’s it.” He then shot an evil look my way as I primly took a sip of my water.

  “I think I’ll have that massage,” I announced as I stood from the table without asking my father’s permission to leave. I didn’t miss his frown, but for once, I didn’t care. Let him make a scene. I dared him.

  I floated from the room, feeling their eyes on me. It wasn’t until I was alone in the antechamber leading to the rest of the club that I shed my armor. As if I really had emerged from a long and bloody battle, I placed my hands on my knees and took huge gulping breaths. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d last. My birthday was only six weeks away. I could run now, but as long as I was still a ward of my father, I didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. And then there was my other issue. When the cops refused to step in, my father would no doubt send others after me—men who weren’t bound by the law. I’d need every advantage I could get. Taking a deep breath, I straightened. I could do this. I had no choice because the only alternative was to become some rich asshole’s collector’s item. A pretty figurine.

  Feeling as if someone was watching me, my head whipped toward the balcony doors I hadn’t noticed were open. There Jamie stood, leaning against the balcony railing with his ankles crossed and a lit cigarette resting between his fingers. Despite the chill running down my spine, I felt like a ball of flame had engulfed me. I didn’t allow myself to consider why as I turned away.

  “I’m not going to chase you,” he called out when I started for the door without speaking a word. I had every intention of pretending I hadn’t noticed him, even though our gazes had connected and held for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Good.”

  I was two steps from the exit when he spoke again. “You’re going to come to me.”

  Falling right into his trap, I stopped and turned. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because I just witnessed you having a panic attack. I imagine your parents would like to be aware of their daughter’s distress.”

  The confused frown I wore cleared when I finally caught his drift. “You’re going to tattle on me? That’s your weapon?”

  He didn’t respond as he tossed his lit cigarette over the railing. God forbid it landed in a bush and burned the whole club down. I doubt he’d care. Jamie hated all things pretentious, which was ironic since he was probably the wealthiest person here.

  “Come here, Barbette.”

  My pussy tightened at the command. Bossy Jamie turned me on just as much as gentle, carefree Jamie, though I’d never tell him so.

  “No.” Shaking my head, I took a step back.

  His smile was gentle, and for a moment, I foolishly thought he’d let me go. Warily, I watched as he hopped onto the ledge, but then my heart dropped to my feet when he lost his balance. Without thinking, I was across the antechamber and rushing out to the balcony. My hands gripped his shirt, and I didn’t stop to question how I could have reached him in time. I was just so damn grateful that I did.

  “I got you,” he cooed as if he weren’t the one who’d almost fallen two stories. The moment he winked, I realized he’d tricked and trapped me.

  “You’re such a fucking bastard.” I ground out each word, but the insult wasn’t enough, so I dug my nails into his chest, making him wince.

  Crooking his finger, he lifted my chin, but it was the emotion in his gaze that held me. “I’d never let anything happen to you, either.”

  I felt boneless as my hand fell to my side. I didn’t realize his head was lowering until it was almost too late.

  “No!” I yelped, ripping away from his hold. “You can’t kiss me.”

  “Why not? You used to love it.” His lids lowered after his gaze zeroed in on my lips. “I bet you still do.”

  Because I’m engaged. “Because I… I’ll want more.”

  I didn’t see his reaction because I’d closed my eyes, praying that I hadn’t said those words aloud. As true as they might be, they were a mistake.

  When I opened my eyes, the space Jamie had occupied was empty. Spinning, I gaped at his retreating back. “That’s it?” I screamed after him. “You’re leaving?”

  He faced me and started walking backward. “I told you I’d make you crawl, Bette, but you’re not on your knees, are you?”

  “Screw you.”

  His smile was the last thing I saw before he stepped through the antechamber doors, but his words rang loud and clear. “Only if you beg.”

  I’m not sure how long I stood rooted to the spot before the door leading to the dining room opened, and my parents stepped through. Where were Ever and Evelyn? Had the rest of their meeting gone well? My father wasn’t beet red, and my mother wasn’t clutching her pearls, so I had to assume everything was okay.

  “I thought you were going to see Klara?” my mother questioned. Even though my father was the head of the family, my mother did all the talking when it came to me. God forbid Elliot Montgomery actually have a hand in raising and caring for his child.

  “I wasn’t feeling well, but it was nothing a little fresh air couldn’t cure,” I said, explaining my presence on the balcony.

  “Well, then… we’d better get you home,” my father announced. His sharp, blue eyes were boring a hole through me, and I wondered if mine held the same glacial chill when I stubbornly held his gaze. I no longer cared if he hurt me. I’ll never bend for him as my mother had.

  The week following the clubhouse catastrophe had come and gone without a hitch. It was now Saturday morning, the beginning of what I hoped was another monotonous weekend. My thrill-seeking days were long over, no matter how much Jamie tried to prove otherwise. After my long but mandatory beauty ritual, I descended the stairs to join my parents for breakfast as I did every morning, but instead, I found my mother standing in the foyer with two other women. One of them looked to be just a few years older than me. She was blonde, nervous, and carried a clipboard. The other was older, around my mother’s age, and fashionably dressed in a red A-line skirt, cream blouse, and glasses hanging from a gold and pearl chain around her neck.

  “Oh, there you are, sleepyhead!”

  I blinked at my mother’s warm welcome until I remembered our guests. Let the show begin.

  “I’m sorry to ke
ep you waiting?” I tried my best not to phrase it as a question, but it was difficult considering I had no idea we were having company. My parents didn’t entertain as much as they used to because parties cost money. They also didn’t want their friends noticing how our once extravagantly decorated house was beginning to look rather… barren.

  “This is Bechette. She’s come to fit you for your gown.”

  My stomach turned as I assumed she meant my wedding dress. If my hand wasn’t holding the banister, I would have sunk to the floor. Or perhaps made a mad dash for the door.

  “Yes, and what a beautiful belle for the ball,” Bechette complimented.

  It was all I could do to hide my relief. The gown was for prom.

  Bechette gestured at the fretful blonde, waiting dutifully next to her like a puppy. “This is Tiffany,” she introduced rather dismissively.

  The next hour passed in a blur. I along with Bechette and Tiffany were ushered inside the parlor we used for entertaining. All the hard work I’d spent getting perfect was then unraveled as I was stripped of everything but my heels and forced to stand on a stool.

  “I don’t normally do house calls,” Bechette haughtily informed as she wrapped a pink tape around my chest, “but your benefactor was very generous, ma chérie. You must have made quite the impression.” Guiltily, I looked away at the knowing look she gave me. “She’s as flat-chested as an adolescent boy,” Bechette observed with pursed lips. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to reduce the bust.”

  Ignoring her rude remarks, I asked the question most prevalent in my chaotic mind. “This benefactor,” I whispered, “who was he?”

  “I’m afraid he wished to remain anonymous, but among his many demands, he did instruct me to give you this.” I was startled when Bechette pressed a folded slip of paper in my hand and curled my fingers over it. “Her torso doesn’t seem to end,” she went on as if nothing had occurred, “so I suppose we must also lengthen the bodice.”

  It was clear fitting me into the beautiful creation mocking me just a few feet away was becoming a huge inconvenience to her. Poor Tiffany barely had time to notate all of her pushy boss’s many alterations.

  Bechette moved on to measure the rest of me. It seemed the only part of me she hadn’t found an issue with was my small waist, although I did find some of her remarks puzzling. Apparently, whoever sent the dress had warned the dressmaker about my “too slim” hips.

  That was the last straw, pushing me with trembling hands to finally open the note.

  When the clock strikes twelve, you’re mine, Cinderella.

  Don’t bother wearing panties.

  My heart pounded in my chest, and I wondered if Bechette might hear. Fortunately, she moved away to carefully prepare the gown for me to try on. No chance in hell that was happening. There was no question who’d written the note and unleashed Bechette on me, but then again, who was I really kidding? I’d always known. How stupid was I to expect him to be anything other than arrogant? And daring.

  Without regard for my audience, I savagely tore the note to pieces and watched it rain on the floor. Stepping down from the stool in a hurry, I mistakenly kicked the damn thing over, drawing my mother’s attention. For fuck’s sake.

  “Barbette Elizabeth Montgomery,” my mother scolded, “do not be rude!”

  I scoffed. I wondered if Mother would mind if she knew what I knew. Naturally, my parents had assumed the gown was a gift from Ever, my fiancé, but what if they didn’t? What game was Jamie playing, and when did it end? He’d been back for almost a year now and showed no signs of growing bored with me.

  The gown had taken my breath away. It was perfect. Better than I could have ever dreamed. Turning it away would feel like ripping out my own heart—just as he’d known it would.

  God!

  The most frustrating part of all was not being able to give as good as I got without my parents noticing. The chain around my neck would only shorten until I suffocated. And Jamie would never know how much better I could play his game.

  “Is there a problem?” Bechette questioned with a smirk. She’d obviously met Jamie and knew exactly the cause of my anger.

  “No, no problem!” My mother rushed to answer before I could. I was sick of people speaking for me when I could do it so much better.

  Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that I only had a month. A month until I turned eighteen. A month until I was free.

  I tried not to let in thoughts of everything that could go wrong or what or who I might miss when I left Blackwood Keep forever. The only good memories I had in this town had been distorted by the painful present.

  “I apologize for startling you,” I said with all the grace and poise of a sixteenth-century lady without rights or a voice of her own. “I felt a little faint.”

  Playing the role of a concerned mother, she rushed across the room and ushered me onto the sofa. I watched while she poured tea into a porcelain Hermès teacup before shoving it into my hands with a warning glare. I could only stare at the expensive trinket that hadn’t been pawned yet. This five-hundred-dollar teacup was only one of the many reasons I was being sold off like cattle. And we had twenty more just like it.

  Our only saving grace was that our home wasn’t mortgaged, but if Dad’s company went under, it would be the first to be sold to pay off some of our mounting debt.

  Anger pushed aside rationality, and I freed my fingers from the tiny handle one by one until the teacup fell through the air and crashed onto the wooden floor. Drowning out the collective gasps around the room, I waited for the sweet tang of revenge that never came. There was only the bitterness of my reality. Staring at the white shards littered around my feet, I realized I was the expensive yet disposable trinket, and this was my future.

  “Barbette, what has gotten into you!” my mother screeched, forgetting the decorum she’d almost cruelly drilled into me. She still didn’t get it. It wasn’t what had gotten into me but rather who was fighting to break free. I thought about the girl I no longer knew. The girl I betrayed out of fear. Would I even recognize her?

  I was on autopilot as I stood from the couch and drifted from the room. I drowned out the sound of my mother apologizing profusely to Bechette and Tiffany until I was alone in my bedroom. I didn’t need to try on that damn dress. Jamie had sent it as a taunt, knowing that I wouldn’t need it.

  When prom night came, Four would be the one to grace Ever’s arm. I knew my friend well enough to know he’d follow his heart. After all, Four had blown into town nearly two years ago and had stolen what was left of it.

  Ever and I had been thick as thieves back in a time when I believed there was no greater force on earth than friendship. It’d taken some time for me to accept that Four was a threat, and for a while, I’d toyed with the idea of playing the villain. However, my very first encounter with Four in our Women’s History class had only left me rooting for the southern invader instead.

  “Ever can have his fun, but don’t get any ideas. He’s not going to be with you.”

  Four’s head lifted from her battered flip phone—I wasn’t even aware they still made those things—and for the first time ever, I was grateful for my mother’s lessons in poise. The full force of her hardened gaze made my spine tremble, and I’d almost lost my nerve. To think I’d spent the entire night pacing in front of my bedroom mirror, practicing this very moment.

  “You don’t even love him.”

  “He’s my friend,” I answered truthfully. “I care about him, and he cares about me, which is why I’ll be the one to wear his ring, and you’ll never be anything more than a thrill.”

  My stomach turned, and I fought back the shame threatening to spill from my throat. I could feel Bee, the girl I used to know, pounding on the walls I kept her trapped inside.

  Be still, foolish girl. You’re safe there.

  “Keep your satin panties on, Barbie. I have no desire to become the girl he marries and eventually ignores.”

  It had taken
all of my restraint that day not to grin like an idiot. It was at that moment I understood why Ever had fallen hard so fast—even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. Four had been a breath of fresh air—for all of us.

  Kicking my heels off, I face-planted on my bed. A second later, I was rolling over and snatching my phone from the nightstand. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stabbed his name and held my breath as the phone rang. I was surprised at my disappointment when the voicemail picked up and told myself that it was for the best. I was even grateful that he hadn’t answered because now I understood how bad an idea it was.

  I’d no sooner thrown down my phone when it started ringing. Panic speared through my chest as I stared at it. The damage was already done. Unlike me, if I didn’t answer, Jamie wouldn’t simply shrug it off. He’d show up, whether I was alone or not, to taunt and torment me.

  Why, oh why did I have to call? I’d let anger cloud my judgment, and now I was trapped in the fucking Jamie matrix.

  Do I take the red pill or the blue pill?

  Taking a deep breath, I snatched my phone just before the voicemail could pick up and stabbed the green button.

  I stared at the screen, watching a sleepy-eyed Jamie blink. Because, of course, he had to take it a step further and video call. His mahogany hair was mussed, some of it falling over his eyes and the rest sticking out every which way. Somehow, he still made a beautiful sight—wrinkled face, dried drool, and all. Thankfully, he was the first to speak because I couldn’t find my voice.

  “You rang?” His deep voice was even thicker with sleep.

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  Yawning, he sat up until he was lounging lazily against the wall where a headboard should have been. I could see the bottom of what looked like flags hanging on the wall above him. Even after he was settled, he didn’t speak. He simply watched me.

  “What do you want, Jameson?”

  “You. Come over.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You can’t be serious.” Once again, he didn’t respond. He just stared at me until I began to squirm. “I’m sorry I woke you,” I whispered nervously, thinking that might be why he wasn’t his normally chatty self. Jamie wasn’t an early bird. In fact, he rarely woke before noon on the weekends.