8: In Which She Puts on a Show for Some Horses

2.1M 32.8K 28.9K
                                    

8: In Which She Puts on a Show for Some Horses

******************************

Amazingly, King Mikhail was true to his word and kept his meeting with my father. Bowing out of front row seats of a train wreck in motion, I decided to walk the grounds with my old, battered Nikon in hand. Halfway across the expansive green, my phone rang and I dreaded answering. I’d been ignoring Sav’s relentless calls since she and the rest of the guests departed yesterday but that couldn’t last forever.

So I was grateful to see “Squirt” plastered across my screen.

“What the hell’s up with your phone?” my brother groused into my ear.

I grinned, struck by a strong wave of homesickness. “Hi, Calvin. I’ve missed you, too.”

“You know, if smart phones are a little challenging for you...” His voice trailed off on a cocky laugh.

“I was just ignoring you, squirt,” I told him, already used to his usual ribbing that modern technology was too complicated for me. “What’s up?”

“Hold on a sec.” I heard a scuffle with the phone, followed by the bang of a door. “My roommate’s an ass. I swear, being related to you is like being related to a banana in a world full of apes.” Calvin had the privilege – a privilege I certainly never had – of staying off-campus since rooms at Helen Huber Prep were scarce.

“How sweet. I see English Lit is paying off,” I dryly remarked, collapsing under a forlorn-looking tree facing the north side of the castle. “What’s that little analogy supposed to mean?”

“Uh, your little photos are kind of in this month’s issues of chick shit. More people read that crap than watch your dumb TV show.”

Of course, I didn’t even have my “dumb show” anymore. “Language, Cal,” I said automatically, playing with the loose thread of the hem of my thick sweater dress. “I didn’t know that. They were supposed to come out next month.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorta on a week’s suspension for getting into a fight because of it,” he murmured nonchalantly. “Mom’s holding off on telling Dad until he gets back. Don’t want him to have a coronary in a foreign country.”

Suspension?” The idea was ludicrous. Calvin was a good kid. He was the epitome of perfection, which was why my parents could trust a sixteen-year-old to live off-campus. Sure, he lived with one of Rory’s friends, who just happened to be the mother of Calvin’s best friend and “roommate”, Jason, but it was still a privilege. “What the hell, Calvin?”

“One of the guys had your pic, Fee. And when I say had, I mean had. The thing was crusty with jizz and –”

“Stop right there!” I cut in, heat creeping up my neck. OK, so pubescent boys were jerking off to photos of me in Zara Paulsen dresses. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been in a bikini. “I don’t need to hear that kind of stuff. Thanks for defending my honour but it was pointless. I sincerely hope you haven’t messed up that beautiful face of yours,” I teased, knowing what was coming next.

“Beautiful?” he snarled. “Ophelia, stop it, or I’m hanging up and blocking you on Facebook.”

I let out a laugh. Calvin hated to hear it but he was beautiful. He had been the most gorgeous baby I’d ever seen; so beautiful that I’d asked my parents if there’d been a mistake at the hospital and my baby brother had been switched with a baby girl. He’d been born with a full head of downy, jet-black hair and the longest, thickest lashes ever. He’d been blessed to have our dad’s eyes – golden, instead of coffee-brown like mine, or even Rory’s – and he knew it. Rory could never resist his puppy-dog eyes.

The VIP (18+ Only) [COMPLETED] [Winner of a Wattys 2014 Instant Addiction Award]Where stories live. Discover now