Princess

Chapter 4: The Future

Robyn was everyone's sweetheart—the kindest sunflower who could bake like nobody's business and had more artistic talent than anyone could possibly imagine.

Francis was the perceptive and mysterious French smooth talker who was far too intelligent for his own good.

Bella was the beautiful, bubbly, popular cheerleader, and queen bee of everything the eye could see.

That was the six of us. We were an odd pack, a mix of New York elites and underworld.

Christian's scrappy kid exterior underwent a phenomenal overhauling, which wiped out the impassioned bones in his body, curating the perfect CEO son instead who was devoid of emotions, didn't care for anything, and absolutely loathed the world. The expectations placed on both our shoulders from decently young ages were heavy.

While I fared decently enough under it because I didn't have to deal with the media and public speculation, his temper would often get the best of him. Now, we boxed together on Sunday mornings, allowing the two of us take out our pent-up frustration of the week on one another with the added benefit that it was good fun.

"You're allowed to have a life," I assured him. "Everyone needs an outlet. Something to fall back on when you need a break."

"I know. That's why we box." He grinned at me wickedly as we jumped off and tie the horses back up.

"That's why you box. I just like smacking you around," I responded serenely.

"Then what's your outlet?"

"Sex."

Christian rolled his eyes, but I knew damn well that he saw his fair share of women in this city too. It was truly shocking he hadn't been outed in a Kennedy level scandal yet. It was a different story for me.

A mob boss with a taste for appalling amounts of sex? It was a cliché, albeit one that worked well for me. Being a notorious New York bachelor suited me.

"You're so predictable," he drawled, pulling his leather gloves off his hands. "I bet you're a boring old missionary son of a bitch."

If missionary meant knives and gagging, he'd be right.

I smacked his arm with my gloves as we stepped into my car, heading back into the city for drinks with Dean and the groom-to-be at Christian's apartment.

"Do you think you'll ever get married?" He asked out of nowhere, pulling me out of my reverie. I pondered his words for a moment, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Why do you ask?"

"Bella asked me the other day." My mouth twitched. Now that my little diva was going to be a married woman, she was wasting no time making sure everyone else was too. 

"I'm not cut out for it and no woman is cut out to handle my job," I responded. "I don't want some innocent woman's life on my conscience just because she's associated with me."

Christian nodded dryly. "How very valiant of you."

"I know, I'm an image of the perfect man. And you, asshole?"

"No," he clipped immediately.

"You'll find someone stupid enough to shack up with you soon, I'm sure." I glanced over in his direction as he rubbed a frown off his face. Women lost their senses around this man–how hard could it be?

"Bella's getting married. Ariadne will be next, of course. And then I can worry about me."

My chest constricted heavily as I ran a hand through my hair. "Ariadne's getting married?"