Page 49 of Wicked Prince

What surprises me is that she isn't trying to murder me.

"Is that what they're saying now?" I ask, doing my best to sound bored. "You'd think this was a creative writing school with all the stories people tell."

She narrows her eyes, and to my amazement, she actually seems to be considering it. "If I find out you 're lying…"

A day ago, I would've handled this differently, but right now, I just want to take the path of least resistance. And if I can weaponize her disdain for me in order to do that, so be it.

"Think about it. You really think Lorenzo is into me?" I challenge. "I'm not his type any more than he is mine."

Kayleigh watches me through even narrower eyes, but I can see the wheels turning behind them. I can see her searching for a way to confirm what she already wants to believe—or rather, what she doesn't.

"It is ridiculous," she says, squaring her shoulders. "But with the way you act, I'm not surprised people would let their imaginations get carried away. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Her words make me bristle immediately, and I clench my fists at my sides. I don't care what she thinks or says about me, but my mother has always been a sore spot. Under any other circumstances, this bitch would already be developing a shiner, but the truth is, I just don't have any fight left in me.

"No, it doesn't," I say pointedly. "But don't forget, we share the same father, and if you want to continue to impress your fancy in-laws and keep your relationship with Lorenzo a secret, you won't piss me off."

"Is that a threat?" she asks in disbelief.

"You bet," I say without hesitation.

I tilt my head as something else occurs to me.

"Kind of weird, isn't it?" I muse. "Seems like you would wear him around like one of your designer bags if it were up to you."

My eyes widen as another realization occurs to me, but I can't help the malicious smirk that plays at my lips as it forms.

"But it isn't up to you, is it?” I ask. “You wouldn't keep something like that a secret, not even if it was just about our parents not finding out.Lorenzodoesn't want people to know you're dating."

I can tell from the flash of rage and indignation in Kayleigh's eyes that I hit the nail on the head. "Shut up," she hisses. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" I ask innocently. "Then it won't matter if I tell everyone you 're dating. I mean, the parents already know, so what's the big deal about letting the cat out of the bag now?"

She's seething, and I know the only reason she isn't lashing out physically is because she doesn't want to ruin her princess reputation.

That, and she probably knows I'd kick her ass.

Maybe I've got a little fight left in me, after all. The thought is infinitely appealing.

Deep down, though, I know I would just be taking out my frustrations on an easier target than the one I truly resent.

I hate the fact that I'm covering for Lorenzo, and yeah, there's a part of me that would like to inform Kayleigh of just how history has repeated itself—and that she's not the only secret in Lorenzo's closet.

I don't, though. For one thing, it wouldn't actually accomplish anything except getting me under even closer observation.

I'm done with Kayleigh, and Lorenzo, and the world they not only come from but thrive in. What the hell is the point? My life here is going to be difficult enough over the next few months without making it worse for myself.

"What do you want?" she asks, still seething.

That was more effective than I thought it would be. Come to think of it, I'm not actually sure what motivation Lorenzo would have for keeping their relationship a secret, except maybe that people knowing he's with Kayleigh would make his meaningless flings a bit harder to come by. No one wants to piss her off if they can help it.

I'm just reckless like that, apparently.

Either way, I finally have something on her, and we both know it. If I were a different kind of person, I might take the opportunity to exploit it. God knows she deserves it, but I can't see the point in that, either. There's nothing I want from her.

Nothing but the privilege of being left alone.

"Not much," I say with a shrug. I can tell from the look on her face she thinks I really am going to exploit her. And why wouldn't she? She's made it clear exactly how lowly she thinks of me, and it's not much different from what our father already thinks. She had to get it from somewhere. "I want you to call off your goons. No more cornering me in the bathroom, no more junior-high harassment."

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