Glass Castle Prince Read online

  I blew a billow of steam from my mug. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  His shoulder moved beneath his dress shirt, still pristine despite the night he’d spent in it. “Probably.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  His eyes met mine. “That’s one promise I can assure you of.”

  I nodded as I backed out of the room. “It’s one I can promise you as well.”

  “In that case, I don’t like black coffee. I take mine with milk.” He held up his cup, an expectant tip to his brow.

  I continued to move away. “I was employed to tend to the house, not any people who might find their way inside it. Get your own milk.”

  For a moment, he seemed as surprised as I was that I’d spurted that. “And who are you employed by?”

  “The Royston Group,” I replied, smiling innocently.

  “Who happens to be owned by?”

  “Your father.”

  His hand circled. “Whose son is?”

  I bit my tongue. For half a second. “An asshole.”

  An uneven chuckle followed me out of the room. “You might be a little too honest.”

  “No such thing.”

  Chapter 5

  If I let them leave one more voicemail without returning their calls, knowing them, I’d have two concerned parents outside the manor doors by midnight.

  “I was going to call you as soon as I finished my chores for the day,” I greeted, adjusting my cheerful tone so it didn’t come across too over-the-top.

  I heard my mom’s sigh of relief, as though she’d learned I was the sole survivor of a plane crash or something. I guessed my texts weren’t up to the task of assuring them I was settled in and safe here at Valmont, five hundred miles away from where they were in Lubrok.

  “So you’re really going to go through with it?” Mom’s voice was soft and uneven. “You’re really going to take the year off from university?”

  Leaning into the hall wall, I rubbed my forehead. “Yeah, just like I told you and Dad in June. I’m taking the year off to save up some money and figure out—”

  “We told you, honey, if money’s an issue, we’re more than happy to loan you some.”

  My head shook against the wall. Saving up cash was only a cover for the real reason I needed the year off—to make sure the college track I was on was the one I wanted to take . . . and not the one I was taking because it was what my parents wanted. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to make them happy or proud. I’d just spent so much of my life with that as my only compass, and I didn’t want to chart my future that way. Especially if doing so made me miserable.

  “I know, I know, but I want to be responsible, take care of myself. You and Dad raised me to be independent, right?” I waited, my face all drawn up in anticipation of which objection she’d voice next, what defense I’d offer. The past couple of years, most of my conversations with them had felt like this.

  “I suppose so,” Mom admitted with a sigh. “But you’re already looking at three years of medical school after your undergrad, plus any extra you’ll need for a specialty, in addition to your residency.” She had to stop to take a breath. “You’re only adding on an extra year by taking this one off.”

  My hand continued to rub my forehead, warding off what I knew to be a forthcoming headache. “Yeah, well, maybe taking this year off will help add some clarity to all of that.”

  “Maybe?” Mom echoed. “Sweetheart, I don’t want to see you jeopardize your whole future for a maybe when you’ve got an ironclad certainty waiting for you at university.”

  My back slid down the wall until my backside crashed into the floor.

  University.

  Med school.

  World-class surgeon.

  That was the dream my parents had clutched from the moment I asked for a play doctor kit the Christmas I’d been six. They’d never let it go. Not even when I mentioned in high school that I might want to think about going into teaching. When I’d been considering universities and leaning toward one that wasn’t world-renowned for their pre-med program. Or even last winter break when I outright told them I wasn’t sure I was ready to declare my major and carve out the rest of my life with one unsure stroke.

  “I can’t change anything now,” I said, stacking my response as carefully as if it were a tower of blocks. “I’ve already confirmed my one-year absence with the university, and I committed to fulfilling my contract here through May.”

  “Oh, sweetie, that can all be fixed. I’m sure we could make a couple of calls to the school and have you set to go come next Monday.”

  “And my commitment here at Valmont?”

  “There are plenty of people who can oversee an old castle during the winter months. No need to waste a perfectly brilliant mind on that kind of mundane task.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from lashing back with something I’d regret. My parents loved me like no parents had ever loved another . . . at least that’s what they told me, and what I believed in a lot of ways. They’d grown up in families that struggled and had worked hard to provide a better life for their child.

  I knew they only wanted the best for me, to get the college education they never had, to be something bigger and more important than how they viewed their stations in the world. The problem was, I wasn’t sure I felt the same.

  “How’s Dad?” I asked, always eager to change the subject where the topic of my future was concerned.

  “He’s good. Busy with work. Worried about you.”

  My face creased. I’d managed to divert the conversation for all of ten seconds. “Listen, I’ve got to go. The first few weeks, there’s a ton to do and I’m already behind.” Thanks to a certain royal pain in my ass. “Will you tell Dad I love him and that everything’s fine?”

  “I’ll tell him.” Her voice was tight, probably because she was on the verge of tears.

  This whole life shift had hit them hard. When I’d announced my plans for the year a few weeks ago, it was as though their lives had derailed with mine, confusion taking the place of confidence.

  My eyes closed. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. So very much.” Mom was definitely crying, even though she was doing her best to not sound like she was. “We’ll talk again soon, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. Bye.”

  When I hung up, the phone slipped from my hand, crashing against the floor. How did a child who’d been given everything simply tell her selfless parents that she didn’t want to go to med school and become a doctor who’d cure cancer and save the world? How could I crush their dreams by admitting that they didn’t match mine? This was my life after all . . . which they were responsible for giving me.

  My head thumped the wall to a steady beat as I contemplated again whether it would be terrible to just go through with the whole doctor plan. Would I really be sacrificing that much?

  “Let me guess? A new way of cleaning the walls Old BattleAxe conjured up in that depraved mind of hers? The gentle vibration of your head thumping the wall knocks the stray particles of dust loose, and all of that wild hair of yours mops it up.”

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Edward’s shiny dress shoes a couple of feet away from my shoddy old sneakers.

  “If I say yes, will you keep walking and pretend you didn’t see me?” I stopped knocking my head against the wall to glance up at him.

  It was late in the afternoon, but he’d clearly just stepped out of the shower,

  his neatly styled hair still wet. The scent of expensive soap clung to his skin. Edward and his friends had kept their promise of staying scarce and out of my way.

  Mostly.

  We’d run into each other a few times in the maze of hallways, and they’d invited me to dine on delivery with them the past couple nights, though I’d declined in favor of slurping down ramen noodles in my bedroom, staring out a window in search of life’s answers as if they were hiding in the shadows of twilight.

  I hadn�
��t spied any yet.

  “So?” His flawlessly starched slacks rustled when he crouched in front of me. “What’s the matter?”

  My nose wiggled as I debated what to tell him. I decided to go with the precedent we’d set for each other by being honest. I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. “My parents.”

  “Well, we’ve got that in common.” When my head tipped, he added, “My parents are generally at the center of most of my glum looks and foul moods as well.” He motioned at my face as though I was emitting grumpiness in waves. “What’s the issue? Too high of expectations or too low?”

  “They’re under the impression their daughter is going to pretty much come up with the cure to treat all incurable diseases.”

  Edward nodded as if he understood, though there was no way he could have.

  “They’re pretty much under the impression I’m going to rule the world one day. Which is different from your parents, who are guaranteed that you actually will.”

  A crease drew between his brows. “Different how?”

  “To start with, an actual desire to fulfill that role.”

  He seemed to swallow some words, but they didn’t stay buried for long. His light eyes glowed from the light spilling through the window behind me. “Who says I want to be king?”

  My forehead folded. “Don’t you?”

  His answer didn’t come in words; it could only be read in the shadow of his eyes.

  “You don’t want to be king?”

  “Would you?” was his reply.

  I took a minute to consider my answer, though it was simple. My head shook. “No.”

  “But because I was born into it, the only child of royal parents, I’m supposed to want to be king?” There was just enough sarcasm in his voice to pick up on. “We’re all just trying to make the best of the life we’ve been given.”

  “That comes across as terribly patronizing when it’s a prince saying it. Sorry.”

  A smile broke across his face, the toe of his shoe tapping the toe of mine. “Just practicing for my future role I will one day be forced into.”

  I let out a little sigh. “Funny.”

  “Hey, I actually had a reason for finding you in this labyrinth, and it wasn’t to dissect our parent issues.” He plucked a stray thread from the cuff of my T-shirt. It seemed so natural, it was as if Anne, my best friend for the past decade, was in his place. “I wanted to invite you to a party I’m throwing here tonight.”

  “I must have heard you wrong. There’s no way you said you’re throwing a party here.”

  He looked away when it seemed as though he were about to laugh from whatever expression was etched into my face. I could only imagine how it looked.

  “Tonight,” he added, as though I’d left out that detail.

  “No. You’re not.”

  “Yes. I am.” He held up his hand when I started to argue. “There are a few, if small, advantages to embracing my birthright, and one is the ability to declare a party when and if I so choose.”

  I gave him a look that was parental in nature, though I knew there was probably nothing I could say or do to stop this party from happening. “I thought the whole point of you being here was to keep your location a secret. How is inviting a bunch of people over going to achieve that?”

  His shoulders moved beneath his linen dress shirt. “I don’t want anyone in my family or anyone who works for my family to know.”

  “I work for your family.”

  His finger moved between us. “But we’ve come to an agreement.”

  “You mean we’re holding a heap of blackmail over each other’s heads?”

  “Basically.”

  The way he said it made me laugh, which felt good after the conversation with my mom and the reminder of everything I had to sort out before heading back to reality as I knew it.

  “You’ll come?” he said, taking my laughter as a confirmation of sorts.

  I picked at the frayed cuffs of my jeans. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

  “Then you haven’t been to very many good ones.”

  I had another moment of deliberation as I decided how much to admit. “Actually, I’ve never really been to any.”

  He managed to rein in the look of shock that initially settled on his face. “Seriously?”

  My head moved side to side. “Combine being an only child with overprotective parents and attending an all-girls school for the majority of my teen years and yeah, seriously.”

  “Then you have to come to this one.” He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “It’s a royal order.”

  My eyes lifted. “Then I’m really not coming.”

  His chest moved from a concealed laugh. “Fine. One lost person to another . . . will you come?

  My face ironed out. “What makes you think I’m lost?”

  He took a moment before responding. “You volunteered to spend eight months in isolation, tending to a mausoleum, when most girls your age want to squeeze every new experience and fresh encounter out of life they can.”

  My invisible hackles rose at him hitting so close to the mark, but at the same time, something inside relaxed when I realized someone else knew—understood—what I was maybe going through.

  “What makes you lost?” I asked, leaning forward. “You’re going to be king. You’ve got your whole future planned out for you.”

  His jaw moved beneath his skin, which was showing a day or two’s stubble, very unlike the clean-shaven face Edward displayed to the world. “You answered your own question. Moving on.” His face cleared of whatever storm had temporarily settled. “Come tonight. I’ll look after you, I promise.”

  There was an unfamiliar tightness in my chest when he looked at me. It only became more uncomfortable when matched with his promise.

  I looked the prince in the eye, as easily as if I’d known him all of my life, and smiled. “I’ll put in an appearance.”

  Chapter 6

  So this was a party.

  Couldn’t say I’d been missing out on much.

  After assessing the situation for a few minutes from the second-floor landing, I determined my outfit choice was appropriate, taking into consideration what the other girls were wearing. Some were dressed in clothing two sizes too big, as was the current style trend, and others were in clothes two sizes too small. Mine fit me just right, so I figured I was safe.

  I recognized Andrew, fully clothed—who knew how long that would last?—hovering close to a cluster of young women who were too busy posing for selfies to notice the duke circling in.

  James was playing some kind of game that involved a ping-pong ball and red plastic cups, but I approved of whoever’s decision it had been to make sure a tablecloth was laid out to protect the wood. Edward’s security guards were stationed around the room; two were at the door, the other two milling through the crowd.

  The grand foyer seemed like an unlikely place to host a party, but Edward had assured me it made the most sense in terms of mitigating potential furniture and carpet damage. The floor was marble, which meant easy clean-up, and no especially valuable heirlooms were on display. Those had been tucked away.

  A few dozen people were here, though with the lights turned down so low, it was difficult to get an accurate headcount. Candles replaced lights, per Edward’s request—battery-operated, per my insistence. Music was playing, the kind no one loved but anyone could tolerate, just loud enough you had to be close to the person you were talking to, but not so close you had to shout directly in their ear.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I found a dizzying display of bottles spread out on one of the collapsible plastic tables I’d scrounged up from one of the storage rooms in the basement. From the looks of the collection, there was enough for each person to consume two full bottles.

  Which was not happening on my watch.

  Just because I’d never been to a party didn’t mean I’d never heard of alcohol poisoning. No one was leaving here tonight on a stretcher,
though from the looks of a few guests’ glasses, they were going to challenge my mission. I decided to station myself at the drink table and make sure no one was over-served. Part of me felt responsible, since I’d been hired to “look after” Valmont, but I mostly felt responsible as a fellow human being looking out for her fellow man.

  “I thought you might chicken out.” someone said from behind me, coming out of nowhere.

  Once I’d brushed off the surprise, I raised a shoulder, inspecting the party casually. “I don’t chicken out.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.” Edward leaned in a little, probably because the song was getting louder. He was dressed more casually tonight, in a pair of light gray slacks and a black polo shirt with the buttons undone. I could just make out the ridge stretching down his chest, which was deep enough to suggest a severe push-up routine, the cuffs of his shirt snug, but not tight, around his arms.

  When I felt my throat burn, I found myself inspecting the drink table.

  “What do you like?” Edward asked when he noticed me checking the drinks.

  My arms crossed when he grabbed a fancy cut glass and pointed at a white bottle with a sunset painted on it that seemed to be popular with a lot of the girls I’d seen visit the table.

  “A healthy liver,” I answered.

  “What good’s a healthy liver if you don’t actually embrace the privilege of being alive?” In his eyes was a challenge, but I didn’t take the lure.

  “I’ll continue bathing in life’s privilege with a glass of apple juice.” I blinked at him all innocent-like.

  He gave one of those sighs he uttered in my presence quite often as he motioned at a couple of plastic bottles. “If you want juice, we’ve got orange or cranberry.”

  “No apple?” I examined the bottles, frowning.

  He laughed at my obvious dismay. “No apple juice. At least not until someone comes up with a trendy new drink that uses it as a mixer.”

  “Fine. I guess I’ll have cranberry.”

  “Hmm,” was his cryptic response as he poured a glass.

  “Hmm . . . what?”