Paper Princess: A Novel (The Royals Book 1) (4 page)

“Are you hungry? Because I’m okay with fruit and yogurt.” Fresh fruit is something I haven’t had the privilege of eating often. Fresh anything is a sign of privilege.

“Starving actually.” He gives me a pitiful look.

“I can cook some eggs”—before I can even finish, he pulls out a package of bacon—“and bacon if you have it.”

As I cook, Callum leans against the counter.

“So five boys, huh? That’s a handful.”

“Their mother died two years ago. They’ve never really recovered. None of us have. Maria was the glue that held us together.” He shoves a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t around much before she died. Atlantic Aviation was going through a rough time and I was chasing deals around the globe.” He lets out a gusty sigh. “The business, I’ve managed to turn around…the family is still a work in progress.”

Based on what I saw of his sons, I don’t think they’re even close to the bend in the road, but Callum’s parenting skills aren’t any of my business. I make a noncommittal noise at the back of my throat that Callum takes as encouragement to continue.

“Gideon’s the oldest. He’s away at college but comes home on the weekends. I think he must be seeing someone around town but I don’t know who. You should meet him tonight.”

Goodie. Not. “That’d be nice.” In the way an enema is nice.

“I’d like to take you over to the school, get you enrolled. After we get you squared away, Brooke—that’s my girlfriend—has offered to take you shopping. I figure you can start school on Monday.”

“How far behind am I?”

“Classes started two weeks ago. I’ve seen your grades, so I think you’ll be fine,” he reassures me.

“Your PIs must be pretty good if you have my school records.” I frown into the eggs.

“You’ve moved around a lot, but yes, eventually when I found out your mother’s full name, it wasn’t too hard to backtrack and obtain everything I needed.”

“Mom did the best she could with me.” I jut out my chin.

“She stripped. Did she force you to do that, too?” Callum reacts angrily.

“No, I did that all on my own.” I slap his eggs onto a plate. He can cook his own stupid bacon. No one gets to run down my mom in front of me.

Callum grabs my arm. “Look, I—”

“Am I interrupting something?” A cold voice sounds from the doorway.

I whip around and see Reed. His voice is icy but his eyes are full of fire. He doesn’t like me standing close to his dad. I know it’s a total dick move, but something drives me to step even closer to Callum, almost under his arm. Callum’s paying attention to his son, so he doesn’t realize the reason for my sudden closeness. But Reed’s narrowed eyes tell me he gets the message.

I raise my hand and place it on Callum’s shoulder. “No, I was just making your dad some breakfast.” I smile sweetly.

If possible, Reed’s expression gets even stormier. “I forgot my jacket.” He stalks over to the table and pulls it off the chair.

“See you at school, Reed,” I taunt.

He spears me with another glare before turning and leaving. My hand falls away. Callum looks down at me, bemused.

“You’re poking a tiger.”

I shrug. “He poked me first.”

Callum shakes his head. “And I thought raising five boys was an adventure. I haven’t seen anything yet, have I?”

C
allum drives
me to the school I’ll be attending for the next two years. Well, Durand drives. Callum and I sit in the backseat, and he’s shuffling through a stack of what looks like blueprints while I stare out the window, trying not to think about what went down in my bedroom earlier with Reed.

Ten minutes pass before Callum finally looks up from his work. “I’m sorry, I’m playing catch-up. I took some time off after Steve’s death, and the board is on my ass to get on top of things.”

I’m tempted to ask him what Steve was like, if he was nice, what he did for fun, why he screwed my mom and never looked back. I keep my mouth shut instead. A part of me doesn’t want to know about my father. Because if I know about him, he becomes real. He might even become
good
. It’s easier to think of him as the jerk who abandoned my mom.

I gesture to the papers. “Are those plans for your airplanes?”

He nods. “We’re designing a new fighter jet. Army commissioned it.”

Jesus. He doesn’t just build planes. He builds military-grade planes. That’s big money. Then again, considering their house, I shouldn’t be surprised.

“And my fath—Steve. He designed planes, too?”

“He was more involved in the testing sector. I am, too, to some extent, but your father had a real passion for flying.”

My dad liked to fly planes. I file away that information.

As I fall silent, Callum’s voice softens. “You can ask me whatever you want about him, Ella. I knew Steve better than anyone.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to know about him yet,” I answer vaguely.

“Understood. But whenever you
are
ready, I’m happy to tell you about him. He was a great man.”

I bite back the retort that he couldn’t have been that great if he abandoned me, but I don’t want to get into it with Callum.

All thoughts of Steve disappear when the car reaches a set of gates that must be twenty feet high, at least. Is this how the Royals live? Driving from one gate to another? We pass through them and follow a paved road that ends in front of a massive Gothic-looking building covered in ivy. I look around when we step out of the car and note similar buildings dotting the pristine campus of Astor Park Prep Academy, along with acres of grass. I guess that’s why
park
is in the name of the school.

“Stick around,” Callum tells Durand through the open driver’s window. “I’ll ring you when we’re ready to leave.”

The black car disappears toward a parking gate at the far end of the drive. Callum turns to me and says, “Headmaster Beringer is expecting us.”

It’s hard to keep my jaw off the ground as I follow him up the wide set of steps toward the front doors. This school is bonkers. It oozes money and privilege. The manicured lawn and massive courtyard are deserted—I guess everyone is already in class—in one of the far fields I see a blur of uniform-clad boys playing soccer.

Callum follows my gaze. “Do you play any sports?”

“Uh, no. I mean, I’m athletic, kind of. Dance, gymnastics, that stuff. But I’m not very good at sports.”

He purses his lips. “That’s too bad. If you join a team or squad, you’re exempt from taking the phys ed class. I’ll ask if there’s an opening on one of the cheerleading squads—you might be a good fit there.”

A cheerleader? Yeah right. You need pep for that, and I’m the least peppy person you’ll ever meet.

We step into a lobby that belongs in a college movie. Large portraits of alumni hang on the oak-paneled walls, and the hardwood floor beneath our feet is polished. A few guys in blue blazers saunter by, their curious gazes landing on me briefly before they continue on.

“Reed and Easton play football—our team is number one in the state. And the twins play lacrosse,” Callum tells me. “If you earn a spot on a pep squad, you might end up cheering for one of their teams.”

I wonder if he realizes he’s just building an even bigger case for me
not
becoming a cheerleader. No way am I bouncing around and waving my arms in the air for an asshole Royal.

“Maybe,” I mutter. “I’d rather concentrate on my studies.”

Callum strides into the waiting room of the headmaster’s office as if he’s been there hundreds of times before. He probably has, because the white-haired secretary behind the desk greets him like they’re old friends.

“Mr. Royal, it’s lovely to see you here under positive circumstances for a change.”

He offers a crooked grin. “Tell me about it. Is Francois ready for us?”

“He is. Go right in.”

T
he meeting
with the headmaster goes smoother than I expect. I wonder if Callum threw some money at the guy so he wouldn’t ask too many questions about my background. But he must have been told
some
things, because at the start of the meeting, he asks if I want to be called Ella Harper or O’Halloran.

“Harper,” I answer stiffly. I’m not giving up my mother’s name.
She
raised me, not Steve O’Halloran.

I’m given my class schedule, which includes a gym class. Against my protests, Callum tells Headmaster Beringer that I’m interested in trying out for a pep squad. Jeez. I have no idea what this man has against PE.

Once we’re done, Beringer shakes my hand and tells me that my student guide is waiting in the lobby to take me on a quick tour. I shoot a panicky glance at Callum, but he’s oblivious—too busy talking about the ninth green being tricky. Apparently he and Beringer are golf buddies, and he waves me off, telling me Durand will bring the car around in an hour.

I bite my lip as I leave the office. I don’t know how I feel about this school. Academically, I’m told it’s top-notch. But everything else…the uniforms, the fancy campus…I don’t fit in. I already know this, and my thoughts are confirmed the moment I meet my tour guide.

She’s wearing the navy-blue skirt and white dress shirt that make up the school uniform, and everything about her screams
money
, from her perfectly styled hair to the French-tip nails. She introduces herself as Savannah Montgomery—“Yes,
those
Montgomerys,” she says knowingly, as if that’s supposed to clue me in. I still have no fricking idea who she is.

She’s a junior like me, and she spends a good twenty seconds sizing me up. Her nose wrinkles at my tight jeans and tank top, the scuffed combat boots on my feet, my hair, my unmanicured nails and hastily applied makeup.

“Your uniforms will be shipped to your house this weekend,” she informs me. “The skirt’s non-negotiable, but there are ways around the hem length.” She winks and smooths out the bottom of her skirt, which barely grazes her lower thighs. The other girls I glimpsed in the hallway had their skirts down to their knees.

“What, blow the teachers, get a shorter skirt allowance?” I ask politely.

Her ice-blue eyes widen in alarm. Then she laughs awkwardly. “Um, no. Just slip a hundie to Beringer if one of the teachers complains, and he looks the other way.”

Must be nice living in a world were you can slip people “hundies.” I’m a dollar-bill kinda girl. Because that was the denomination usually tucked into my G-string.

I decide not to share that with Savannah.

“Anyway, let me show you around,” she says, but we’re barely a minute into the tour before I realize she’s not interested in playing tour guide. She wants intel.

“Classroom, classroom, ladies’ room.” Her fancy fingernails flick at various doors as we head down the hall. “So Callum Royal is your legal guardian?—classroom, classroom, junior faculty lounge—How did that happen?”

I’m stingy with my response. “He knew my father.”

“Callum’s business partner, right? My parents were at his funeral.” Savannah flips her chestnut brown hair over her shoulder and pushes open a set of doors. “Freshman classrooms,” she says. “You won’t be spending much time here. Sophomore classes are in the east wing. So you’re living with the Royals, huh?”

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate.

We whiz past a long row of lockers, which look nothing like the narrow, rusty lockers in the public schools I went to over the years. These are navy-blue and the width of three regular lockers. They gleam in the sunlight streaming in from the wall of windows in the hall.

We’re outside before I can blink, walking down a cobblestone path lined with gorgeous shade trees on each side. Savannah points to another ivy-covered building. “That’s the junior wing. All your classes will be in there. Except PE—the gym’s on the south lawn.”

East wing. South lawn. This campus is ridiculous.

“You meet the boys yet?” She stops in the middle of the path, her shrewd dark eyes fixed on my face. She’s sizing me up again.

“Yep.” I meet her gaze head-on. “Wasn’t too impressed.”

That gets me a startled laugh. “You’re in the minority then.” Her face sharpens again. “First thing you need to know about Astor—the Royals run this place, Eleanor.”

“Ella,” I correct.

She waves her hand. “Whatever. They make the rules. They enforce them.”

“And you all follow them like good little sheep.”

A slight sneer touches her lips. “If you don’t, then the four years you spend here will be miserable.”

“Well, I don’t give a damn about their rules,” I say with a shrug. “I might live in their house, but I don’t know them, and I don’t want to know them. I’m just here to get my diploma.”

“All right, I guess it’s time for another lesson about Astor.” She shrugs back. “Only reason I’m being so nice to you right now—”

Wait, this is her way of being
nice
?

“—is because Reed hasn’t issued the Royal decree yet.”

I raise a brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning all it takes is one word from him and you’ll be nothing here. Insignificant. Invisible. Or worse.”

Now I laugh. “Is this supposed to scare me?”

“No. It’s just the truth. We’ve been waiting for you to show up. We were warned, and we’ve been told to stand down until otherwise ordered.”

“By who? Reed? The King of Astor Park? Gee, I’m trembling in my panties.”

“They haven’t reached a decision about you. They will soon, though. I’ve known you for five minutes and I can already tell you what their decision will be.” She smirks. “Women have a sixth sense. It doesn’t take us long to know what we’re dealing with.”

I smirk back. “No. It doesn’t.”

The stare-off that follows only lasts a few seconds. Long enough for me to convey with my eyes that I don’t give a shit about her, or Reed, or this social hierarchy she clearly abides by. Then Savannah flips her hair again and beams at me.

“Come on, Eleanor, let me show you the football stadium. It’s state-of-the-art, you know.”