Chapter Two
Mary-Belle
I’m petrified I’m going to break something.
I knew when Sarah took me in that she had money, and quite honestly, I didn’t care at the time because I was so done carrying around a black trash bag from house to house and getting leered at by some of the men I was forced to live with.
Some were great.
But I always had my guard up, you just never know, and after one bad experience, you tend to brace yourself for another and another until all you have are shields up like a damn Star Trek episode while the Klingons go full phasers
I may also be a huge Trekkie with zero shame, but the example still works.
I’m holding a brand-new iPhone in my right hand, staring down at it and trying not to look up all the news stories they warned would come out about me.
I’m the shiny new charity case.
With her shiny new phone.
And I get to go to a shiny new private school on top of that—starting tomorrow—with what I can only imagine has some of the most stuck-up people on the planet attending.
People who don’t know what it’s like to starve.
Or what it’s like to sleep with the lights on, just in case.
I twirl my long blonde braid to keep my other hand occupied and take a deep breath as Mr. McCree paces in front of me on his phone.
I hear phrases like. “Money is no object. Get it done. I want it delivered now.” And then he’s covering up the phone and asking if I like pink.
I almost laugh but shrug instead.
My foster mom is dead, and I’m sitting with a black trash bag at my feet. And he wants to know if I like pink.
Can’t I just say a bed would be nice, maybe a pillow so I can scream into it and then cry?
I keep a polite smile on my face as he talks. And freeze up when the front door opens and footsteps sound.
I don’t know why but the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end as the smell of expensive cologne wafts by me.
He salutes his dad before going to the immaculate kitchen, grabbing a water, and looking toward me.
I find a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that he chokes a bit as we make eye contact.
And his eyes are—beautiful.
A glassy dark blue that seems to almost reflect my exact same panic. His hair color is a shade of amber and gold that makes him look like the prince he is, and of course, it’s shaved high up on the sides with potentially perfect man bun execution if he wanted.
He looks like a younger version of David Beckham.
He’s wearing a black and white school uniform with a crown crest on the jacket, and his tie is tugged almost completely off like he was nervously pulling it the entire drive to the house.
I don’t even realize Mr. McCree is off the phone until he clears his throat and says, “Ambrose, meet Mary-Belle, or Belle for short.”
Ambrose’s eyes narrow as he licks his full lips and leans against the counter. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”
Oh okay, so he is an asshole.
Good to know.
His dad points his cell at Ambrose. “No attitude.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I thought that at least in my own home, I didn’t have to worry about cameras.” He shoves away from the white countertop and makes his way toward me. “Better strap in, Belle, because as of right now, you’re not allowed to have feelings out in public and apparently not even in here.”
“Ambrose!” He gets close to him. A muscle ticks in Ambrose’s sculpted jaw. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCree’s smile is conniving as he crosses his arms. “I’ll let you drive her to school in the Aston Martin—in fact, consider it yours.”
“Drive her to school,” he repeats. “To my school?”
“Yeah.” His dad grins. “Who else is gonna show her the ropes? Your mom’s on the phone enrolling her as we speak, which reminds me, the house is big, she needs a tour.”
I open my mouth to say no when Ambrose holds out his hand to me and winks. “How’s it feel to know you’re worth a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar car?”
My cheeks heat.
I don’t reach for his hand, but I do stand. Shame fills me as I reach for my black trash bag, and my hands squeeze tight around it. I don’t need to look down to know that I only have a few personal things in the bag, including one pair of brand-new white converse that my old guardian had just gotten me.
We were supposed to go shopping the day she died in the car crash, but when I first came to her house, she had a cute sundress and shoes waiting for me as a surprise.
I didn’t mean to, but I burst into tears which then encouraged her that we needed a shopping spree right away.
And just like that, one of my shields sort of dropped, only to come straight back up again as Ambrose stared me down.
“Come on.” Ambrose jerks the bag out of my hand and starts stomping away.
I have no choice but to follow him down the ginormous hallways of the first floor. It’s like something a celebrity would live in. I don’t even want to know how much this place costs, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s more than even an A-list actor could afford.
Elon Musk? Of course.
Tom Hanks? Maybe not so much.
Ambrose charges ahead of me and starts pointing his free hand from left to right. “Guest rooms, primary suites, game room, theater room.” He moves swiftly up the stairs, my bag swinging next to his thick legs.
He’s clearly an athlete.
“Bathroom, second bathroom…” He stops at the top of the stairs, and I nearly ram into him. “There’s ten, just in case you get bored. Oh, and they’re themed because why not? Mom gets bored.” He smirks and then keeps walking. “My room is on the second floor with another theater room.” He turns a hard right. “Work out room is in the basement, which, since I see absolutely zero muscle on your scrawny body, I’m assuming you don’t care to see.” Another evil smirk. “My parents’ primary suite is the entire third floor, definitely don’t go up there unless you want to be scarred for life.” He shudders. “Pool house and guest house are outside, there’s an indoor sauna near the workout room, and an outdoor bar along with an indoor one on every single floor, if you want to raid it, it’s not locked, my dad fully believes in the whole drinking at home if you’re going to drink which I actually stand by since the last thing I need is to get caught partying and get kicked off the team.” He sighs and shoves a hand in his pocket. “The drugs are, however, under lock and key, especially the mushrooms.”
I let out a shocked gasp.
He bursts out laughing. “That was almost too easy. Do you really think my dad would do drugs, let alone have them in the house? Though I do hear microdosing is huge now.” He keeps walking. “My room’s to the left, more guest rooms down the hall, and…” He pulls out his phone and fires off a text.
I wait, feeling awkward as I stare at myself in one of the large mirrors in the hall next to some weird-looking statue that I’m sure cost more than my entire life.
“Fuck.” Ambrose puts his phone back in his pocket. “And apparently, because my dad enjoys torturing me, your room is right over here, across the hall.”
“Should we draw a line in chalk or something?” I joke.