Page 62 of Prince of the Palisades

It feels like there’s no other way. I hate this part. Dating as a royal is nearly impossible. There’s no such thing as privacyand discretion, because the media wants to document every first kiss, first date, first “I love you,” and every messy, scandalous fight thereafter.

Samuel was right about one thing: itwaseasier with Léon. At least he knew what to expect.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I can—”

“There’s something else I haven’t told you.”

My stomach knots. I run my eyes over him. The way his fingers are drumming on his knees again. His somber eyes. Is this what Morgan was talking about?

People have their secrets around here.

I try to swallow, but my throat’s too dry.

“Thing is…” Reiss cracks his knuckles. “Well, I kind of have a side hustle.”

When I don’t speak, he continues, “I write essays. Lit papers. Personal statements for college apps. Whatever Willow Wood’s upper elite need and are willing to pay for to keep Mom and Dad off their asses.”

I finally blink, surprised. “Sorry, what?”

“It’s great money,” he asserts, the tops of his ears turning red. “You’d be surprised how much someone will pay for a solid B in a class.” He lets out a long breath. “But, um, yeah. That’s what I do.”

It all makes sense. His hushed discussions with other students between classes. Nathan’s suggestion that Grace hire someone to write her paper. But I wasn’t expecting this to be his secret. It’s not even bad.

Unethical? Yes. But I’ve done far worse.

It’s almost kind of sweet. His leg jiggling nervously. Theway his gaze barely stays on me, like he’s waiting for me to shame him.

But I’m not going to. I ask, “What’s the money for?”

“Half goes toward a college fund,” he confesses. “The rest is for new fits. Better haircuts. Shoes,”—I clock the pair of recently released LeBrons he’s wearing—“whatever helps me blend in around here.”

“Blend in with people you don’t like?” I say, confused.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Sometimes, I just want one less target on my back. Sometimes you have to play the game to survive.”

It’s like ice in my lungs. Hearing someone else say it. Knowing that’s exactly what I’ve been doing at Willow Wood. Playing a game to get back home, at first. But now there’s Reiss and I like him and…

I don’t know what’s next.

I recline deeper in my chair. “Your parents don’t notice? The new clothes and shoes?”

Reiss nods toward his backpack on one of the desks. “Quick change before home or work. I’m good at hiding things too.”

I snort. “Like how good you are at Skee-Ball?”

He shrugs listlessly. “Look, USC is hella expensive. Even if I win Oceanfront Film Fest, it’s not a free ride,” he explains. “I don’t want my parents in debt forever because of me. Dom’s only eleven. Not even in middle school. I can’t afford to fuck any of this up.”

“And dating me could ruin that,” I offer, managing a neutral expression.

“Not you,” he says. “The press. I can’t have them followingme around all the time. Being seen with you might—”

“What if you weren’t,” I say without thinking. “Seen. With me, that is.”

He tilts his head, confused.

I am too. A little. The smart, doesn’t-want-to-ruin-his-chances-of-going-home-again Jadon would walk away from this. The Jadon who knows if Kip Davies gets one whiff of my situation, it’s game over. Yet, I can’t get Samuel’s words out of my head:

If you choose to continue this romance publicly…

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