Page 2 of A Royally Fake French Menage
Dual titles. Though of course neither talked about the other.
And so America has seemed a simple solution. Leave it all behind and…play.
Two years I’d been at Rippton U where I enrolled my English French noble ass to get the fuck out of Dodge… Or at least shy as far away from my responsibilities as an ocean or two would allow, depending on my departure route.
The elite private college in California seemed a good place to make new friends, discover fresh enemies and screw everything that walked past without regard to gender. Being away from France provided the ultimate freedom for which I paid a hefty price tag, though the multimillion dollar personal tithe all students on campus paid barely scratched the surface of my bank happy nine figure conglomerate account.
And now, it was time to go back. Last night I’d received a summons from my stepmother which sent me into a spiral I hadn’t been able to dig myself out of until one excellent roommate in Nick Jessop offered a solution:
Homemade moonshine, the promise of an epic hangover and a liquid based brainstorming session. I was always up for a new challenge.
And, as it turned out, I did receive my pickled inspiration, if only to blurt my idea out to the crush I’d had for nearly my entire tenure on campus.
Genie laughed, a tinkling sound that turned every head in the courtyard. "Of course, I know you’ve been crushing on me, Barclay.” She patted my arm tracing her nails across my sleeve. Gooseflesh rippled beneath where she couldn’t see, thankfully. “The trip will be fun. When do we leave?"
"Tonight?" I raised both eyebrows.
Asking about mundane things like clothes, packing, or passports never crossed my mind. Genie Lockwood was heiress to one of Europe’s largest luxury brands. She probably traveled more often than I did.
And just like me she was off boarded to Rippton U to learn a little American, uh, subculture. Her other mission was likely to make the connections with the other offspring of the ridiculously wealthy that would take her future empire higher.
And probably connect well enough to secure a decent marriage.
The thought left a bitter note in my mouth that had nothing to do with Nick’s ferocious blend from last night.
She smiled and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I think I can do that. France is quite lovely. See you when you pick me up."
When I expected her to turn away, Genie caught me in her piercing gaze again, raised up onto her toes like a perfect ballet dancer, and brushed those plush, dusky pink lips across my cheek. A series of tingles sparked across my shoulders, right to the base of my spine.
"Will do," I managed to force out past dry lips, staring more like an American than the hybrid French British marquis I’d been born as, according to my paper worked pedigree.
Genie sashayed away. My eyes fell to those luxurious hips with curves just large enough to fill my palms. I wanted to hold onto her and bang all night long like my life depended on it.
A few steps along her genteel retreat, she gave a little wiggle.
I stared.
Was that a happy dance?
I shook my head and headed back to the Kingsman frat house at the far side of campus, wondering why it was suddenly me who wasn’t sure what the hell I got myself into, and not her.
"Not the armor again. Jesus wept, Barclay." Beau Bennett folded his arms and blocked my progress along the upstairs hallway of the Kingsman frat house.
The house where I’d lived for the past two years and left when an offer to get the hell out of the sights of this asshole came up. Beau Bennett, Allstar jock and mafia heir, was scarier thanmy grandmother had ever been on my English side, and that was saying something.
I straightened, tugging on the bowtie at my throat with one finger. The urge didn’t secure me enough room to breathe, though I swiped sweat from the inside of the band. I strangled the thick rope connected to the ancient chest scraping its way along the plush carpeting in my wake with the other.
Time to fess up.
"Okay, so my lazy ass didn't move all the armor last time when I left, and I need to reclaim this. Plus, I'll get castrated by someone so much worse than you if I don't take it back.”Lie.The armor belonged to the English side but he didn't need to know the stepmonster didn't need it back. I shimmied up a smile just for him. On anyone else I knew that move came across as cute, unobtrusive and maybe even a come on.
With this man? I was a nuisance to be squashed into the woolen threads of his carpet that I mangled beneath the ancient chest that bore plenty of scars.
But the concept of not returning to France without the entire contingent of family armor didn’t bear thinking about. I couldn’t leave anything unattended with this man lurking about, and certainly not beneath his roof a moment longer.
Beau’s eyes narrowed as I became the sole focus of his attention. "Why?”
One word, and the man gave me whiplash.
