“Your mother is unwell.”
“Your mother is tired.”
“Your mother is grieving.”
The princess wasn’t entirely sure what grieving was, but she thought it meant that her mother was sad. It made sense because she was still sad every day that her father wasn’t coming back.
She wanted to help. She thought that maybe, if she was allowed to see her mother, they could let their sadness out together … they could heal together.
One night, she packed her bed with toys and blankets, leaving a big lump that was about the right size to trick the servants who would check that she was asleep. She hid in her closet, forcing herself not to doze off, until the check had been done and the coast was clear. And then she stole, on small, silent feet, through the hallways and staircases of the palace to her mother’s room.
The door was ajar. Being small and skinny, she squeezed through the gap with ease. Beyond, the room was dim, but she had good eyes, because she always ate her carrots. She scurried behind her mother’s reading chair—the one they would use when she sat on her mother’s lap to listen to Romanian fairy tales before bed each night.
She missed those days. She missed her mother. Yes, she had her cousin and their secret trips to the swimming pool, but she wanted her mother. Sheneededher mother. She peeked around the side of the chair.
Her mother was propped up on the bed, reaching for something on her side table. When she collapsed back onto her pillows, there was a small, glass pipe between her lips. A flick sounded, and a flame appeared.
The princess watched, confused, mesmerised as her mother held the flame to the end of the pipe. And when she was done and had blown out clouds of thick smoke from her mouth, her arms went floppy, and her head lolled.
And that was when her uncle stepped out of the ensuite bathroom. The light cut across the room, and the princess shrank further into the shadow of the chair.
“Fata buna,” he murmured, plucking the pipe from her mother’s limp grasp. She made a small, grunting sound, but didn’t fight him off as he climbed onto the bed and pressed her legs wide, fumbling between their bodies … and then his hips were moving, and he was grunting, and her mother’s legs were splayed wide, limp like a doll, and she wasn’t making any sound at all.
The princess couldn’t watch anymore, but fear rooted her to the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the noises … and when her uncle stopped making the sounds, and his heavy footsteps left the room, she counted to one hundred, and then she counted to one hundred again, and then she ran.
She didn’t look back at her mother.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One Giant Motherfucking Bed
IRINA
Panting, I hurried towards the gangplank, grinning at the man side-eyeing me from the dock.
“Sorry!” I gasped, clutching at the stitch in my side. “Had a vulva emergency!” I’d spent far too long trying to find a pair of panties that didn’t constantly rub on my healing clit. One week post-piercing, and it wasn’t hurting anymore so much as it was just hyper-sensitive.
I had the satisfaction of seeing his cheeks flush, and as soon as I’d made it up onto the deck of this swanky yacht, he tugged the gangplank away, refusing to look me in the eye. I wiggled my fingers in a little wave in his direction, before heading straight for the crowded bar.
“Pizda!” I cursed, jostled to the side and into a group of beer-swilling men as the boat lurched. They chuckled, eyeing me with appreciation.
“Hey!” one of them exclaimed, tilting the neck of his bottle in my direction. “You’re one of the porn girls—I’ve seen your posts! Are you really sticking that giant dildo up you? Because if you are …” He nudged his mate, “I reckon we’d both fit in there at once, Gaz!”
I gave them a simpering smile, inwardly seething at these sleazy men. “Oh, I have no doubt I’d fit you both ‘in there’ …” I eyed the other two men with them, and they all chortled along like we were all engaging in verbal foreplay. “I think I’d probably manage all four of you at once, to be honest.”
They guffawed, leering at my body. “You offering to try?” ‘Gaz’ asked, stepping closer. His breath was rank with garlic and the hoppy stench of beer, but I held my ground with a titter and a shake of my head.
“Oh, fuck no! But really, boys, it would almost betooeasy to fit in four teeny weenie pin dicks.”
While their pin-sized brains scrambled to process my words, I flounced off, chuckling. If nothing else, I’d go home knowing I’d bruised the egos of four grotty bogans.
I glanced around at the sweaty sea of people milling, dancing and chattering …o Doamne, was that River Riley? I’d been bingeing episodes ofThe Rileys of Emu Grovefor the last few weeks—since I’d suddenly found myself with too much free time, now that I had no uni and no job to leave the house for. His family was hilarious, and he’d been such a cute kid who’d grown up into a certified hottieanda major celebrity.
Okay, so this party—except for ‘Gaz’ and his loser brigade—was looking up. If only it wasn’t so crowded here by the bar! I needed a vodka—probably on ice since these heathens never stored their vodka in the freezer.
I fanned myself, surreptitiously wriggling to try and get my panties to stop grazing against my piercing. Why hadn’t I just free-flapped it?
“Ru Snack?” a feminine voice asked behind me. I turned to find myself face to face with a petite woman with a glossy fake tan and an expensive blonde dye job.
