Page 8 of The Good Girl

“Lighten up, Lena,” he laughs, his dimple easy to see this close.

“Stop calling me that,” I groan. I don’t want the intimacy it offers.

He winks. “Fine, the wifey will get what the wifey wants.”

Chapter Eight

Tristan

Idrag her out of the school, plop a helmet on her head, and lift her onto the back on my bike. How do I know something is wrong? Because the woman hasn’t protested once since we left the library. No smart-aleck comments, no pushing, and no resistance.

“Where are we going?” she asks with a tired voice as I grab her hands and pull them around my waist. Again, she doesn’t protest, but her stomach does grumble loudly.

“To fix that,” I say with a chuckle, trying to ignore the way her body curves around mine.

I bring her to my family house, not the apartment overlooking the dance studio but the Radcliffe mansion. I never really liked this big, old house, with its million windows and empty-echoing corridors. When my mom died, it was like all the warmth was just sucked out, and now it was just bricks and paint. The only good thing was the painting studio in the attic.

Lena doesn’t say anything as I lead her into the kitchen and make her sit at the breakfast bar. I grab a box from the cupboard and a pan before I hand her a can of soda.

“I’m on a diet,” she mumbles, looking at the can wearily as I begin making mac and cheese.

Of course she is, elections are coming up, and she was about to be paraded around like a show pony. I bet her father wanted her to look perfect, like a little doll, but it did also explain why she was taking that damn book out of the library earlier. Elena Montgomery, skilled violinist, ballet dancer, class vice president, captain of the cheerleading squad, and on the debate team. She was the ultimate poster girl, and Randolph loved making her a part of his campaign. He loved being seen as a nice family man with a high-achieving child and a pretty little wife, his whole image was built upon it. Such a shame the people of Silvercrest didn’t know what he was really like.

“You’re no good to anyone if you don’t eat,” I chastise as I stir in some extra cheese to the dish. “What time did you go to bed last night?”

She pauses for a moment to think about it, the dark circles under her eyes telling me all I need to know. “I had cheer practice, and then I had to prepare some things for the pep rally. Plus, Eden is leaving the debate club, so someone has to start paying attention to the budgets and arranging the meets.”

The hiss of the can as she opens the soda fills the kitchen.

“And what did you have for dinner?” I press as I grab two bowls out of the cupboard.

Tilting her head, her answer is almost like a whisper. “I don’t...remember.”

“Nothing then,” I scoff. “Here, eat.”

I shove a bowl at her and pass a fork from the drawer. For someone so smart, she could be so stupid. How was she supposed to be the perfect daughter if she fainted? Or if she became ill?

“I’m on a diet, Tristan,” she says, her voice firm as she pushes the bowl away, but I see the way her throat moves as she swallows.

I lean back against the counter and dig into my food as I stand, watching her. Blowing on a spoonful of hot cheesy goodness, I pause briefly. While the image of Lena on her knees, naked, in front of me with her smart mouth open and waiting makes my cock throb, my priority today is making sure she eats. “I will force feed you, Princess, if I have to.”

My threat seems to work as she gently picks up the fork and begins to stir the food to cool it down. She sighs softly. “Why did I even let you drag me here?”

“Because you have no strength to fight me today, and that’s the problem. I like my women feisty.” I laugh, because it’s the truth. I wanted Lena to fight me. To get angry. I wanted to burst her open and unleash every repressed feeling, and then I could put her back together again. She wasn’t meant to be an ember, stomped out by her father. She was a blaze, and she just needed someone to fan it.

She mumbles, “Yeah, because Blip looks like she’s the feisty sort.”

“Blip?” I frown. “Do you mean Blythe?”

She ignores my question, instead rolling her eyes at me. “Just let me eat in peace. And then I’m leaving.”

“Are you...are you jealous, Princess?” I can’t stop the grin that pulls the corners of my mouth upwards. I chuckle as she flips me the bird, I guess the princess isn’t as adverse as she likes to pretend and that thrills me. I want her to feel possessive over me, because it was another step away from hating my guts.

We eat in silence, and it isn’t until I’m washing up the dishes that I hear the front door open. Moments later, my father saunters in, a pretty redhead following closely behind, giggling. We regard each other wearily. He was a handsome man once, and in fact, many people say that I am the mirror image of him, but I don’t see it. There’s a cruel edge to the way he smiles, his eyes are filled with dark, dirty secrets, and while we have the same coloring, I think the similarities end there.

“You’re home,” he states as he loosens his tie. I don’t miss the hint of bitterness in his tone.

“So are you.” I lean back against the counter casually again. I know it drives him insane that I’m not the son he wanted. I smoke pot, keep my room messy, paint, and I refuse to show him respect. I’m everything he didn’t want. It doesn’t matter that my grades are perfect. Add in my mother’s eyes and he hates me. But he can’t do anything about it because blood is important in The Society. Lineage and wealth go hand in hand.

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