Chapter 3 Rich Girls Don't Scare Me

The prince is glaring at me as if I just melted his ice castle, and then peed on it. He's sweeping his silver gaze up and down my figure and pausing on the giant red stain on my torso. Claire smirks at his side, her hand petting his chest as if she just won some game that we were playing.

I roll my eyes and hope they can't see the way my hands have started to shake. I've been in fights before with girls at my high school, so it's not like I can't swing my fist, but I don't think it would look good during a freaking ball.

“You should keep your girlfriend on a leash.” I snap and then storm the other way, my handbag clutched between tight fingers. I can hear Claire cursing at me from behind, but she doesn't come after me. Most likely she's glued to the guy's side. I ignore the stares and whispers and make my way toward a hallway where I hope a bathroom is. The noise from the ballroom becomes background static, and for the first time since arriving at Ashmourne Academy, I feel like I can breathe.

How did Roman stand this place? I can't picture my twin brother, who's loud and sarcastic, mingling with these aristocratic assholes.

I find a girls' room and look at myself in the mirror. Deep blue eyes stare back at me, framed by a silken silver mask, my long black hair a contrast to my pale skin. The red stain looks bad against the silk, and I feel tears threatening to spill over.

“I'm sorry, Mom.” I whisper into the empty room. Sometimes I imagine that I can feel her with me when things get tough, but I'd rather not imagine her wrath for ruining her wedding dress. I sniff, blink back the tears because ruining my makeup now will only make everything worse.

If I can't get past the first night, then I'll never last the year, and then I'll never find out what happened to Roman. And failure isn't an option.

I grab a folded hand towel on the counter and wet it with warm water. I dab it at the spilled drink, hating the way the red doesn't seem to fade. Of course it isn't.

“God damn it,” I mutter. “Fuck!” I slam the towel down on the counter. “Shit!”

“You've got a strong mouth.”

I gasp and spin around, holding out the towel in front of me as if that would save me from some lurking creep. I'd be better off taking off my stilettos and holding the heel to the guy's neck. He wears a gold mask with white lace trimmings, seeming to make his hazel eyes pop. He leans against the wall next to the door, his suit jacket hanging off one arm and the tie around his neck loosened. His windswept curly brown hair is mussed, as if he's run his hands through it one too many times.

“Is everyone at this school a fucking weirdo?” I mutter out loud. “Seriously, I get assaulted, and then some psycho bitch spills her drink on me, and now I get followed to the bathroom?”

“Followed?” His head tilts and a lock of curly brown hair falls onto his mask. “You're in the men's bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Don't. Call me that.” I clench my jaw.

“Sorry.” He raises his hands in surrender.

With a stiff neck, I glance behind me and, true to his word, I spot men's urinals. Great. I scoff. “Look, my night—or day, whatever—just started and it's already gone to shit. Can you just leave me alone?”

He pushes off the wall and steps toward me, shoving his hands into his pants pockets. “Sure. It's just that...” He trails off. “I've got to take a piss.” He reaches down to grab his junk, and I raise an eyebrow. “And, as much as I'd love to whip my dick out right now, I saw what you did to Marlon, and I don't want to end up like him.”

“Marlon?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowing as my head tilts to the side. Who the fuck is Marlon?

“The ass grabber.” He's nice enough to clarify.

“Ooh, Marlon.” I nod my head. Then my face and neck flush red, and I'm avoiding his eyes. I clear my throat and then stomp around him. “Sorry.” I mutter. Because I can at least admit when I'm in the wrong. Before I reach the door, he calls out to me. I turn around to find him holding out his suit jacket.

“To cover up the stain.” He nods toward my torso. I bite my lip as I stare at the jacket like it might bite me. “If you don't want it...” He shrugs and starts to take it away, but I grab one of the sleeves.

“I'll take it.” I say as I pull it on. “Thanks.”

“Also...” He pauses and scratches the back of his neck. “I'd stay away from Claire. She could kill you if she really wanted to.”

I scoff. “Rich girls don't scare me.”

“Claire should.” He mutters as the door shuts behind me.