Page 23 of Scarred Crown

Instead, he opted to go to a British university and major in being a dickhead. Brice wanders over almost fully dressed.

“What are you two talking about?” Brice asks.

“Jules,” Alex says, examining himself in the mirror.

“He give you the speech about how men and women can be friends without wanting to bang each other?” Brice asks.

“Brice,” Bea admonishes while she fixes a strand of his light brown hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

I’ve been giving a less crude version of that speech for almost two years now to everyone who asks about Julia. Lately, everywhere I turn, people assume Jules and I are more than we are. Whereas before I used to burn with the fire of indignation. How dare they suggest we can’t be just friends? Now the same claim doesn’t ring as honest coming from my lips. At some point, against my will and unbeknownst to me, I became what everyone expected. Jules and I are just friends, but there are so many days, so many moments where I long for a relationship I may never have. The thought of kissing her no longer baffles me or frustrates me—it excites me.

But I also realize kissing her might ruin our friendship. Can best friends recover from unrequited love?

“I’m surprised your girlfriend doesn’t have a problem with you and Jules. The two of you are huddled together all over the estate. If Jules was my girlfriend, I wouldn’t be too pleased.”

“Jules will never be your girlfriend, so I suppose you’ll never have to concern yourself with our friendship.”

“That wasn’t actually my point,” Alex says with a smirk. “I feel sorry for your girlfriend. Must be hard for her to realize she’ll never measure up.”

All Vicky’s comments the last few months come back to me in a rush. Some of her digs about Jules were veiled, others more blatant, but once I made it clear my friendship with Jules wasn’t up for discussion, she mostly dropped it. Have I been unfair to Vicky? Hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve been too busy protecting my friendship with Jules.

“Impossible to maintain, if you ask me.” Alex tugs on his tux while Bea finishes his bowtie.

“No one asked you,” I mutter, the bowtie in my hands damp with sweat. What exactly does he mean? My friendship with Jules is impossible or my relationship with Vicky? For me, there’s no choice. Vicky’s had my body, but Jules has my heart.

“Someone will get jealous along the way, and the two of you won’t be as close anymore.” He uses the snooty, older brother, know-it-all tone that grates.

Despite my annoyance with Alex, his words turn around and around in my head all night while I’m making small talk, while I’m eating dinner, and again while I’m dancing with strangers. By the time the last guest has left, my mind is made up.

###

When I arrive at Jules’s house, it’s late. So late, in fact, her light is the only one still on in the house. From underneath her window, I text her. Within moments, her window opens, and she’s leaning out.

“Nick, what are you doing here? It’s late.” She glances over her shoulder as though expecting someone in her house to burst into her room.

Posey, her younger sister, pops her head out beside Julia. She gives me a wave and a sigh. Julia pushes her away and shoos her out of the room.

When she comes back to the windowsill there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Come for a ride with me.” It’s not a question. I need her on the back of my bike, pressed against me, arms around my waist, her cheek against my back. While I waded through all the things I had to do tonight, getting this moment with her has been all I could focus on.

“Did you ditch security again? My mother will kill me if I go with you when you’re unprotected.”

“I broke up with Vicky. Come for a ride. Please.”

Her expression turns from frustrated to a soft understanding, which makes my stomach clench. “Aww. Nicky. Are you okay?”

“Just get your ass down here and come for a ride with me.” How many different ways can I cajole her into getting on my bike?

“Give me a sec,” she says, disappearing inside her bedroom again. She shuts the window, and I can see the outline of her moving around her room. We’ve done enough middle-of-the-night rides she’ll know exactly what to grab.

From the side door, she emerges, a leather jacket zipped tight. She eyes my outfit. “Did you come right from the dinner?”

“Vicky, then here.” My tux is out of sorts, and I’ve thrown a leather jacket over it to break the wind. Later, I’ll hang my tux neatly on the dry-cleaning hanger and hope no one notices the mud on the pant legs. If they realize it’s from riding around the country escort-free, I’ll catch hell.

She stares up at me, searching my face, and I smooth a strand of her hair that’s come free of her low ponytail. This moment, right here, is worth any lecture from anyone at the palace.

“What’s bothering you? Did you break up with Vicky or did she break up with you?”