“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say, I can’t see it ending well for me whether I agree or disagree.” I feel oddly comfortable with him. I wonder why that is?
“Pretend you’re not an Academy girl and he isn’t Sir Harkwright. What would you say to a comment like that?” He glances at me for a moment, and I’m glad we’re driving so he has to look away.
“Fine, but if this ends up biting me in the bottom, I’m not going to be happy.”
“I could always bite you in the ass, would that make it better?” he asks with a smirk and my cheeks are flaming instantly.
“I’m just going to pretend you never said that.” I clear my throat and try to work out what my opinion is on what he said. It’s easy, really. “I don’t think it’s fair to speak about Maria like that behind her back. How you feel about your father shouldn’t make a difference. People make choices all the time. Just because it may not seem the correct one to you, doesn’t give you the right to judge her, and well, you’re just being mean.”
I cross my arms over my chest as I wait for him to say something, anything. Laughter is not what I am expecting, so I guess he lives to surprise me, and I have no idea what to make of it.
“Mean? You couldn’t come up with a better insult than mean? Clearly you need to spend more time with us, then you’ll learn a thing or two.”
“I don’t want to learn how to upset and offend people. I want to be nice, polite, why does that have to be such a bad thing?” I’m not annoyed by what he’s saying, more curious.
“It isn’t a bad thing as such, but there’s being polite and then there’s you. What happened to the bad girl who didn’t give two fucks?”
“I went too far, almost forgot the risks of being at the Academy. I need to last until graduation, and if that means being quieter and following the rules better, then that is what I will do. I need this, Emmet, I can’t afford to fail. Hence why I will take all the help I can get, even when it’s offered by Sir.” It feels almost freeing to speak this way with him. I can almost forget that he’s the big bad prince, who seems to love messing with my head.
“Everything comes with a cost where he is concerned, just watch yourself with him. You are the last person who should be left alone with my father. Trust me on this. I have the inside scoop where his ideas are concerned.” His hand is white knuckling the steering wheel and his cheek is ticking like crazy.
“Why do you say that?”
“Take a wild guess. You’ve seen Maria, and I could easily show you a photo of my mother if you need more help with drawing your own conclusion. Come on, Luna, you can’t be that oblivious.” He pulls over to the side and shifts in his seat so he can look at me.
“Is this to do with the fact that Maria looks a little like me? Same hair color and eye color? Because I noticed that, and I know she dyes her hair, but why should that matter?”
“Get real, Star, everything about her is fake. My father spends tens of thousands of dollars to get her to look like that. Contact lenses to change her eye color, tattooed eyebrows so they’re the right color, and continuous appointments to a hairdresser so her color is always perfect. Plastic surgeons to get her face just right, from the size of her nose to the fullness of her mouth. He has done this with all of his wives, and only Maria has got away with less, because her face was the right shape when they met. He isn’t only a narcissist, he is also living in a fantasy land.”
“He wants them to look like my mother.” It comes out on a whisper, and I feel sick.
“Exactly, and as far as I’ve heard, you’re the spitting image of her. If that’s the case, why have something fake, when you can have the real thing?” I move as far away as I can get, as I try to digest everything.
“That doesn’t mean he’ll want me though. I’m just a kid.”
“Hey, maybe I’m wrong. I fucking hope I am, but if not, you have to be careful. I mean it, Luna, avoid him any chance you get.”
Jaw meet floor.
“Close your mouth, my Star, It can’t be that surprising,” he says, as he places his fingers underneath my chin and closes it for me.
“I thought we’d be staying in a hotel,” I reply and I admit, I feel a little dumbfounded right now. Get rid of founded and you’re correct.
“Why would we stay in a hotel if I have a place in New York? It makes very little sense to me.”
“Well, I didn’t know you had a place here,” I retort, as I unclip my seatbelt and climb out of the car.
“Star, I have a place in most states, the fun ones anyway. You’ll never stay in a hotel when you’re with me.” He winks at me, and a bolt of electricity zaps its way down my spine.
“Will your guards be staying here too?” Did my voice shake then? I think it may have.
“There’s an annex round the back for them. Trust me, there isn’t a place safer than here. Other than my father’s place, of course, that’s more secure than Fort Knox. Because he is just ‘so important’. Come along, Star, let’s get inside.” He doesn’t retrieve his bags or open the trunk for me to grab mine either.
I look back at the electric gates that we just drove through and I can’t believe he lives here. It’s a God damn house. Why would he need a house? I guess I expected more of a bachelor pad, a penthouse apartment, or something other than this.
A three story mini mansion, with a wrap-around porch and dark oak paneling. I don’t know a lot about architecture, but it screams expensive, but it also feels like a home. I don’t know if it will still feel this way when I get inside, but I guess anything is possible at this point.
I follow him up the porch steps and through the front door, there’s an entryway with shoes lined neatly on a rack, and various styles of coats and jackets hanging on hooks above it. I slip off my shoes and hang my jacket on the only available peg, before following him through the door and into a spacious living room. I mean, it’s huge, all open planned, and large windows. The kitchen is separated from it by an island in the middle, and it’s all black and chrome. The living room is painted in a light grey, with a black sofa, two recliners, and a glass coffee table in the center. There’s a large flat-screen on one of the few walls in this room and a painting of a stormy sea with the sun setting in the horizon. Dark and foreboding, and it suits him, it really does.
It’s nice, but it feels cold, lifeless, unlived in. It doesn’t feel like a home and I can’t help but wonder if that was planned.
“So, what do you think?” He walks into the kitchen and flicks the coffee maker on and I’m just standing here, staring at a room that gives absolutely no insight into the type of person he is.
“It’s… nice. It just feels, I don’t know. I’m just going to go with nice,” I say as I shift on my feet and play with my necklace to keep my hands busy.
“A-huh, I mean it should be nice for the price I paid in getting it decorated and set up. It’s not home though, I prefer my place in Maine, but I don’t get out there a lot these days.” He sounds almost wistful, but I’m probably reading it wrong. I mean, a far-away look on his face and the sigh he let out toward the end could mean anything.