That would be a different story to her.
“Don’t act like your life didn’t get better.”
It’s my turn to snicker.
“So did yours.
Or were you living in a palace like this before I came along?”
He grunts but doesn’t argue with me, which means I’m right.
It’s not exactly easy to get the last word with him, so I’ll take it as a victory after he humiliated me at the gas station.
I can’t even have a phone my father doesn’t monitor.
I know he has access somehow, and I know he’ll continue to even though I’m away at college.
It’s funny in a sad way.
I know my best friend, Blair, thinks I’ve got it made, like having all this money is a huge win or whatever.
And yes, it is in a lot of ways.
I don’t have to worry about getting a job to support myself, for one thing.
But when she goes to school, she’ll have a life of her own.
No having a guardian watching her every second.
No being spied on or having her phone calls tracked.
It would be heaven compared to what I have ahead of me.
Dad was right about everything being moved in and set up by the time we arrived.
There’s a full set of living room furniture, a big TV, even artwork on the walls.
It’s all kind of bland, but I’d rather it be bland than tacky or over the top.
The kitchen’s amazing, too.
I wonder if I’ll have enough time to do any cooking because the shiny appliances and gleaming, untouched pots and pans are practically begging to be used.
The fridge is fully stocked and looks like something from a high-end supermarket.
What I’m most interested in is the room where I’ll probably end up spending most of my time.
The bedroom is huge, with an en suite bathroom-thank God for that.
I was worried about having to share a bathroom with the asshole whose bedroom is across from mine.
From what I can see through the open door, it’s practically identical to this one.
Although would it really be so bad if he caught me coming out of the shower?
Or vice versa?
Dammit.
I need to get him out of my system, or else things will only get worse.
It’s awkward and painful enough to face him already, especially when he makes little remarks like he did earlier.
We both know I don’t hate him-who the fuck says that?
Oh, right, ignorant dickheads who think they’re better than me because… why?
Because he gets paid to follow me around like a dog?
If I were him, I wouldn’t be too full of myself.
“Princess?
You okay in there?”
He pokes his head into the room and looks around.
“Nice.
Big bed.
Mine, too.”
“Good for you.”
I turn around to where my suitcases were left.
The one thing I wouldn’t give an inch on was unpacking my own clothes.
Sorry, but I don’t love the idea of total strangers putting their hands on my underwear.
When I explained it that way to my dad, he got it.
Like all he cares about is keeping me pure, making sure no man ever so much as sees my panties.
It’s almost bizarre.
And pointless.
If he wants me to stay a virgin for the rest of my life, he should’ve sent me to a convent.
Or to a cabin on top of a mountain.
Instead, I’m at college, and there’s how many guys here?
Guys my age who want to drink and party and have sex.
I know I’m not ugly.
I might be a virgin, but I do know some things.
Once everybody’s settled into their dorms or apartments or whatever, they’ll want to start throwing parties.
It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel-I think that’s how the saying goes.
I could stroll into a party anywhere and hand over my v-card by the end of the night.
No problem.
I hit the bed with a thump when reality finally sinks in.
I’m never going to be allowed to go to a party, not without Zeke.
And I’m not about to walk around with him practically brushing up against my back all the time.
Breathing down my neck.
Like any guy would want to come near with him standing over me.
There won’t be finding a boyfriend or even dating casually.
Hell, I won’t be able to give a dude a hand job while we’re making out in a dark corner.
There has to be a way out of this.
Somehow, I have to find a way to make Zeke see he doesn’t have to jump through Dad’s hoops now that we’re miles away.
What if he meets somebody he likes and wants alone time with her?
I hate the ache in my chest when the idea hits me.
Zeke with some random skank.
Kissing and touching her.
Doing all the things I’ve imagined him doing to me.
Letting her do all the things I want to do to him.
No.
Wanted.
Past tense.
I grip the bedspread with both fists, squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I can.
I need to stop thinking of him that way.
I was stupid and had a crush, and that’s it.
One of those dumb things.
Nothing was ever going to happen between us.
All the looks I thought he gave me were in my head.
He’s never been interested, never seen me as anything more than a spoiled brat.
A princess.
And now, after that awful night, he hardly touches me.
The dull ache in my arm reminds me of his touch.
I’m surprised he didn’t wash his hands right after like I’m dirty.
He was too busy destroying the phone I bought, the prick.
Money down the drain.
I wanted to kill him right there in the parking lot, in front of anybody who passed by.
Running him down with the car, crushing him the way he’s crushing me, even if he doesn’t know it.
“You hungry, princess?”
His voice floats in from the other side of the closed door.
I grit my teeth rather than telling him to go fuck himself for calling me that.
He knows it gets under my skin, which is the only reason he keeps using the word.
If I show him how much I hate it, he’s only going to do it more.
“Yeah, I was thinking about fixing something in a little bit,” I reply as evenly as I can.
He snorts.
“Right.
Like the princess is going to cook her own food.”
I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help myself.
This snide son of a bitch.
I march over to the door and fling it wider.
He’s standing there, hands in his pockets, smirking like this was exactly the reaction he was looking for.
I fucking hate him.
“You can go fuck yourself, you know that?”
“Ouch, such language.”
“What?
Are you going to tell your boss on me?
Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?
You scamper back to him like the little lapdog you are and report every fucking thing I do.
Apparently, some people call that a job nowadays.”
That did it.
His eyes aren’t twinkling anymore.
“Watch it, kid.”
“No, you watch it.
For one thing, you’re not even that much older than me, so cut the bullshit, okay?”
When all he does is smirk, I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep myself centered.
Otherwise, I might use those nails to claw his eyes out.
“For another thing, I know how to cook for myself.
I know how to do a hell of a lot of things, and you want to know why?
Because until my father found me, it was just my mom and me, and I was home alone most of the time.
If I was hungry, I had to cook for myself.
If there was a mess, I had to clean it up.
In fact, I did most of the chores around the house because my mother was so tired from working two jobs that she never had the energy.
I did the laundry, the dishes, scrubbed the bathroom.
I made sure something was waiting for her to eat when she got home from a shift.”
I have to stop.
I’m either going to scream or cry if I don’t.
How dare he?
He doesn’t know the first thing about what my life used to be like.
His jaw twitches.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.