Page 80 of Scarred Crown

Jules

Fourteen years ago

Alex is back from England for the weekend. How do I know? He’s sent me approximately five hundred text messages. I think I’ve responded to three. It’s a level of clingy and desperate I would never have suspected from someone like him.

If Nick and I were still attached at the hip, having my phone buzz every five minutes would have been hard to hide. Given that Nick has decided to suction cup himself to Vicky’s vagina, I’ve got lots of time to ignore Alex. At school, I’ve even managed to make a few new friends on the swim team. Other girls aren’t nearly as catty or crazy as Nick’s friends led me to believe.

None of that changes the truth that runs under my life like water.

I miss Nick.

We see each other in debate club, around school, even sit near each other in one class. On the surface, we probably seem like good friends, but underneath us, the foundation has shifted. We can’t seem to figure out how to wiggle ourselves back into alignment.

Truthfully, I hardly recognize him anymore. Between Vicky, the guys from the soccer team, and his royal duties, I’m lucky if I can grab lunch with him once a week. Even then, we’re in a big group. Always surrounded by people, everywhere.

The gap between us is widening, and he’s got no interest in closing it. The few times I’ve swallowed my pride and tried to talk to him about the kiss, he’s brushed me off or been downright rude.

The kiss has to be the issue. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was punishing me for something. For kissing him back? For rushing off? For not buying into his renewed interest in Vicky?

I’ve seen his face when she talks. She could be speaking Dutch backward for all he cares.

Tires crunch down the driveway, and I peer out my window. Although it never happens anymore, hasn’t happened in months, whenever it’s late at night, I still expect Nick to be the one sneaking onto the property.

When I realize it’s a motorcycle, my heart kicks. Before I hustle down the back staircase to the side entrance, I double-check that everyone else’s bedroom light is out. If he braved coming to see me so late, it must be important.

Nick.

I throw open the side door, my heart in my throat.

But it’s not Nick sitting on the bike with a helmet in his hands. It’s Alex.

My heart sinks, and I’m sure my expression gives away the sadness that settles over me.

“You’re not happy to see me?” Alex’s tone is teasing, but his eyes are watchful in the glare of my house’s security lights.

“No, I—” But I can’t finish my thought because I have no idea what to say. He’s not the last person I want to see, but he certainly isn’t the first. Annoyance zips through me. Didn’t he understand my non-response to his repeated texts was a response in itself? Whatever happened between us this summer was a mistake.

“You were expecting Nick? He took off with Vicky to the barn right after dinner. I think they stole a bottle of wine from the cellar. You know how it is.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Another knife to my heart.

“Right. Yeah. Of course. Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door jam. There’s a crushing pressure over my heart. To think I once felt sorry for Vicky for coming second. My current misery should make me even more sympathetic to how she must have felt once, but the realization makes me angry. Dipping his dick has turned out to be far more important than our friendship.

All the times he told me nothing or no one would ever come between us and look at us now.

From his perspective, our kiss must have been pretty awful. I must be a bad kisser. Maybe the problem with kissing Alex was mine all along. I’m the shitty kisser.

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. There’s a reason I’ve overscheduled myself this year. I blame Nick for the distance between us, but I’ve joined every available club, co-curricular, charity event, and community engagement initiative our elite private boarding school offers. Anything, anything to stop myself from thinking about Nick and Vicky fucking all over Bellerive.

“We have a diplomat dinner tomorrow night. Nick’s bringing Vicky. Fancy being my date?” His tone is light, but the question weighs heavy in the air. He’s on his bike, gauging my reaction.

He’s taking Vicky? At one time, a plus-one at any event was always me.

I can’t pretend I’m not tempted to accept Alex’s offer. The last few months have been so lonely. Half the time when I text Nick it takes him days to get back to me rather than seconds, and his responses aren’t sincere or clever anymore. They’re riddled with blandness, as though he’s responding out of obligation rather than friendship. It’s easier not to text him than to experience the burning ache when he takes too long to respond or blows me off.

Showing up at the diplomat dinner with Alex would drive a stake between us, shattering any semblance of friendship. Nick’s face would be a picture, that’s for sure. Not a good one. I’m angry and frustrated and confused, but I can’t do that to him. If he even suspected what went on between me and Alex this summer, he’d likely never speak to me again. The thought causes my temples to throb with the beginnings of a headache. We’d fight for sure if he ever found out I was with his brother. How do I even justify what went on between us? Stupidity? What was I thinking?

I wasn’t. The aura of Alex put me in a fog. Everyone at school would have died of envy. What girl would say no to the first in line to the throne? At the time, I couldn’t fathom saying no.