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More words were coming, and I couldn’t stop them.
“You decided you hated me the first day you met me. Why? Because you don’t think I’m worthy? You don’t think I earned what I have?” My chest rose and fell fast, my lungs unable to draw in enough oxygen to sustain the words spewing out of my mouth. “Or is it because every time you look at me, it just reminds you that you’re not worthy either? None of you. You’re not special. You’re not better. You’re spoiled little trust-fund babies who’ve never had to work for shit. You have everything you could ever want, and the only thing you did to earn it was be fucking born!”
My voice shook.
My whole body shook.
My stomach churned with an uncomfortable mixture of anger, pain, and fear. The rage inside me had flared like a fireball, white-hot and bright, but it had died just as quickly, and now all I felt was sick.
Someone had cut the music while I was screaming, and as the echo of my words finally faded, a tense silence filled the yard.
Now that my word vomit was out, real vomit rushed up to take its place, and I clamped my jaw shut hard, spinning and racing for the house. I plowed into a group of sophomore guys, shoving my way through the press of bodies until I found a hall leading to a bathroom.
I slammed the door shut, threw myself down in front of the toilet, and hurled.
My wet hair hung like a curtain around my face, and I grabbed it up in a messy clump as the whiskey burned its way back up my throat. I shivered like I was freezing, but my body felt flushed and hot at the same time, and I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth, sinking onto my hip and clinging to the toilet bowl as if it were a life raft.
What the hell did I just do?
I’d gotten into a screaming match with the Princes in the middle of a huge party. Called Finn a whore. Called Mason a pussy. Called them all spoiled trust-fund babies.
In front of everyone.
Jesus. They’re going to fucking kill me.
The door opened behind me, and I looked up, expecting to see Leah or maybe Maggie.
But it was Mason.
He was still wearing nothing but wet boxer briefs, which clung way too closely to his body. His calves and quads were as ripped as every other part of him, and with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark brown hair slicked back, he looked utterly casual as he leaned against the doorframe. His glittering green eyes took in every inch of me, and the intense scrutiny was too much. Nausea hit me again, and I threw myself back over the toilet, groaning as my cramping stomach emptied every last bit of itself into the bowl.
Gentle hands pulled my hair back, gathering it at the back of my head. When I finally stopped dry heaving, Mason helped me sit back against the side of the large tub. He pulled some toilet paper off the roll and handed it to me, and I weakly wiped my mouth with it and tossed it in the toilet before he flushed.
> The lights over the mirror were dim, giving the small space an oddly intimate quality, and I noticed Mason had shut the door when he’d stepped inside, cutting us off from the rest of the party.
He crouched before me now, balanced on the balls of his feet with his forearms resting on his thighs. His emerald eyes had that open quality that I wished I could love, and the expression on his face wasn’t angry.
He looked almost… sad.
“Is that what you really think, Legs?” he asked softly. “That we’ve all had it so easy and you’ve had it so hard? You think you’re the only one who’s had a tough life?”
“You don’t know anything about my life.” My voice was rough and scratchy, my throat raw.
He dipped his head. “You’re right. I don’t. And you don’t know anything about mine.”
“I don’t think that’s really my fault.”
His long fingers were laced together, and he raised them to his lips, still staring at me contemplatively. “No. Probably not. And you’re right. The Hildebrands are one of the wealthiest families in town, and you are a Hildebrand. Charlotte Hildebrand’s daughter. Through and through. That’s your legacy now.”
He was still speaking quietly, no scorn or hate coloring his voice, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Experience had taught me not to trust the softer side of Mason Van Buren, but I couldn’t figure out where he was going with this.
With a decisive nod, he reached for my hand, rising to his feet and pulling me up too. My knees wobbled badly, and the scrapes on my skin stung with the movement, but he held my arms to steady me.
“You really want to be one of us? A Royal? You really think you can handle being a part of our world, Hildebrand?” he asked, his thumbs rubbing gently against the skin of my arms. It was a tiny movement, and I wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it, but it made goosebumps prickle all over my skin, made my nipples harden even more. “Because I’ll tell you, if you think it’s all fucking rainbows and cupcakes, you’re wrong as hell.”
“I can handle it.” My toes curled into the cool tile floor, but that was the only outward sign I gave of my nerves. “I can handle you. I can handle anything.”
A small smile tilted his lips, one that almost seemed to take him by surprise. What? Had he expected me to back down? Maybe it would be the sane thing to do at this point, but it somehow felt like it was too late for that.
