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“We’re getting you ready first,” she said. “We need to take advantage of you looking amazing again. We need to slut you up and get Alexander horny as hell.”
“I don’t think he’s that kind of guy,” I said, thinking of him only getting aroused when I struggled. He didn’t want slut, he wanted submissive, and my nature wouldn’t allow me to perform like that for him.
“Oh, believe me, he is,” she said with a sly look. “I’ve seen how he looks at you when you’re wearing something revealing. Like you’re a walking prime rib, and he’s a starving dog.”
She giggled at her own joke and waited for me to scan my keycard to open my door lock. Once inside, she immediately dove into my closet and started throwing things out for me to try on.
It was too much, and she made a mess with the pile of clothes on the floor, but in the end, I had to admit that she knew what she was doing.
I dressed at first and thought I looked really amazing in a simple Gucci short skirt that was pleated and muted in brown and beige plaid. I had on a white Chanel turtleneck top with a men’s Armani dark brown suit jacket over it with the cuffs folded up.
But the minute I stepped out and twirled, Victoria yelled, “Hell no!” and went at me like an attacking predator. I laughed and struggled to keep my jacket on, but she pulled it off and said, “You’re not a sixty-year-old English professor. You’re a gorgeous young woman, you’re an Upper, and you’re engaged to the hottest guy in several cities. The most eligible bachelor in possibly the world right now. You’re going to dress like you know it.”
I blew a sticky strand of hair off my forehead and rolled my eyes at her back as she picked through the clothes that I’d rejected.
Finally, we agreed on a short black silk slip dress. It was a pretty Michael Kors with delicate embroidered flowers along the hem. I tried to wear a jacket or a cardigan over the top, but Victoria vetoed the idea.
“You don’t know how gorgeous this looks,” she said, adjusting a spaghetti strap that had fallen down. “It’s modest enough. I mean, it goes to your knees. And your boobs aren’t hanging out. You’re good to go.”
I pulled on black flats to wear with it and ignored her snort of derision. I still couldn’t bend my feet into any of the high heels I had in my closet. It seemed like the time in the hospital had changed the structure of my toes or something. They wouldn’t cram into them, and I wound up feeling more like an ugly stepsister than Cinderella if I kept trying.
I let Victoria do a little makeup on me, classic smokey eye and red lipstick, and followed her to her room. She chose a red silky slip dress, Chanel, but hers showed off way more of her body than mine did. It looked more like something you’d wear under your actual clothes, but she loved it.
We met a group of girls in the courtyard, and I felt strange when I glanced over to see Harlow sitting by herself against the dividing wall in the middle of the lawn.
I tried to smile at her as we walked past, but she didn’t look up. She seemed to brush me off, and I didn’t blame her. I’d brush me off too if I had the chance.
“You’re so lucky,” one of Victoria’s friends said to me as we made our way around some barriers to the men’s side. “Your fiancé is so freaking dreamy.”
Her eyes were locked on Alexander when she said it, and I agreed, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Rome standing next to my fiancé, looking again like the love of my life.
They were both dressed in khaki pants with polo shirts and jackets over top. They were the quintessential rich guys with more money than worries and no need to show it off.
Although if you looked closely and knew what you were seeing, you’d understand that their outfits alone cost thousands, not to mention the understated Patek Phillipe watches each of them wore.
That was the difference between Uppers and Lowers. They could be wearing similar things and be in similar circumstances, but Uppers just had to throw the money behind themselves and look perfect no matter where or when.
“There she is, my gorgeous fiancée,” Alexander said and held his hand out for me. This is what it felt like to be part of the inner circle. The Upper club on campus that ruled Crimson from the wings. This is what ninety-nine percent of the student body at Crimson would kill for, would throw themselves into the firest for.
And I didn’t want it. I didn’t belong here with them. I felt it in my bones and in the way I physically recoiled every time my fiancé pulled me into his orbit.
I always sought Rome’s support, and no matter where I was or what he was doing, he gave me. Whenever my eyes circled around looking for him, he was watching me. Sometimes I’d catch him with a look of hunger clinging to his classically masculine features, but it would disappear the moment he caught me looking. He would smile at me with encouragement instead of the heat I expected.
“Babe, tell Miles here about that time I caught you going through my things,” Alexander said and nudged me as we walked towards Tyne Hall. “It was so cute. She’s so jealous and controlling when she feels like some chick is interested in me.”
I couldn’t remember what he meant at all, there was no memory of such an event filed away inside of my broken head, so I faked it.
“I couldn’t let anybody think they could steal you away, babe,” I replied and let him pull me closer. He kissed my cheek and held me tightly against him with his arm around my shoulder. I felt trapped.
“I love this part of you,” he said and nuzzled my neck. “This is how you should be. Pliable and kind. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if that’s what it takes.”
He wasn’t cruel all the time, but I always sensed an underlying tension just below the surface. Right under his thin veneer of civilized Upper manners was the heart of a beast, and he both terrified and enraged me.
I could foresee a future where I lost my life at the hands of Alexander Remington if I wasn’t careful.
And I could foresee a part of my reality where I wanted it to happen. Where the burden of this strange existence became too much, and I welcomed the boot on my neck.
If only I wasn’t so stubborn, that was. My stubborn, angry streak was going to keep me alive and keep me moving.
