SCARLETT DEVERAUX
A soft wind blows over the balcony. But I kind of enjoy the fresh night air. It's a bit chilly for a night in June but I have to admit that Preston's closeness makes me forget the cold. He guides me right to the front of the balcony where I rest my hands on the railing. We never spent time alone. We always met at different events of course, talked a bit and even danced one or two times. But it has always been in a hall full of people. This however, his trained body so close, my shoulders nearly touching his chest as we stand there looking over the city, feeling him breathe behind me, this is new. I let my gaze brush over Central Park, the lit streets and the cars far below us. Ironically enough, hights calm me down.
"You know, you can step out of your dreamworld now. I'm right here ..." He says it with just enough humor in his deep voice that I actually have to laugh about his self-assured comment. "Listen, Scarlett," He says as he takes another step towards me and I can feel the length of his body against my back. "We both know what this is all about." It doesn't take much more to drown out the noise of traffic and the sirens somewhere down the block and replace them with the sound of my own heartbeat. "And it has been about it for a while now." I take a deep breath to steady myself. To compose my face. To convert my tense expression into an innocent smile. Then, I turn around to look straight at him. "You could have sped things up, you know?" Now it's his turn to laugh and I can see, he is thankful for the tease that lifts the pressure but leaves the tension.
Although, the laugh doesn't reach his eyes. They stay fixated on mine as he takes another step towards me, taking up the last remaining space between us. He is close enough that I can smell a soft trace of his perfume: Cedar and something spicy, a dash of lemony pepper. Both his hands are resting on the railing on either side of me, his eyes not moving from mine. He takes in my flushed face and his lips curve into that self-confident half smile of his. "You'd like me to speed it up now?" I bite down on my lower lip as he brushes one strand of hair out of my face. "You are perfect for me, Scarlett. Our parents know it. I know it. And of all the people around us, you know it best." I open my mouth. But he traces his finger along my cheek, down to my jawline and if I ever knew what I was going to say, I cannot recall it any longer. "I am ready, you know? I'm ready for us. Are you?" There is a long pause, while I watch his eyes shift between my eyes and my lips, until I finally realize, it is my turn to speak. This is it. I release the breath I've been holding and nod ever so slightly. "I've been ready for you for a while, Preston."
His kiss is soft, delicate and brief. Not what I have expected, to be honest. After what I've overheard at school I wouldn't have taken him for the gentle type. I feel relief. Mostly because this means he knows I am not one of his usual cheap hookups. But deep down I also know it's because I am not ready to go there. Not with him. Not with anyone. As I feel the soft wind instead of his lips against mine, I slowly open my eyes, just to find his face at some distance. His eyes are on my face but I get the impression he is looking at nothing at all for a second. Then he slightly shakes his head and smiles again. "I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. We'll go to school together." He doesn't ask. I don't contradict.
***
When we enter Aston High the next day, he holds my hand. I can feel all eyes on us and I can imagine why: We are what everyone would call the perfect couple. To be honest, I think most of the guys have been teasing Preston about me for a while and most of the girls will probably hate me now more than ever. The good thing: They cannot afford to show it. I am in charge of this school and everyone knows it. You don't cross me. You are either part of my squad, irrelevant or you try to stay out of my way. Sounds harsh? If you lived in my world, you would know that appearances are most important. And today, with Preston softly kissing me in front of my locker for all to see, I have not only mastered appearances, I feel luckier than ever before. Who would have thought it would turn out to be so easy after all? Making my parents happy, finding the perfect suitor for Cotillion and making my stomach tingle every time our eyes meet across the class room.
PRESTON BROOKS JR.
You know how they say you can see your future in each other's eyes? Every time I look at her, I get a glimpse into my parents present instead. Don't get me wrong, Scarlett is a beautiful girl. She has this slim body with tiny curves in all the right spots. Her big blue eyes can make you say or do about anything if she batts her eyelashes long enough. And her lips are very capable too, if you know what I mean. My parents could have picked someone worse, alright. I know they are damn pleased with themselves about it. Why wouldn't they? She plays her part so well, I almost believe it's real myself. I wished I could just forget it. It would make things easier if she ... Well, made things easier and helped me take my mind off things once in a while.
"Preston, stop." And here we go again. It's been six weeks. Six weeks and I've almost had her where I wanted her countless times. And for six weeks she has stopped me right when I thought she was finally going to give in. I reluctantly let go of the waistband of her pink lace slip. Why the hell does she wear underwear like this if I'm not supposed to remove it? "What?!" She stares at me, her brows furrowed. My annoyance must show on my face. Of course it does. It's been six weeks! She reaches out and touches her hand to my cheek. "I'm sorry, Preston ..." She batts her damn eyelashes at me and smiles an insecure smile. How come she is never insecure apart from when I have her half naked in her bed? "I told you, I wasn't ready yet ..." Her finger softly traces from my jawline, down my neck. I close my eyes for a second, trying to get a grip. It doesn't work.
"What are you doing?" I jump out of her bed, pull my shirt over my head and run a careless hand through my tousled hair. "Leaving." "But we could just ..." She reaches for the bedspread and covers her upper body. "I can't take that forever, Scarlett."
When I close the door behind me, I feel the truth of my own words hit myself. I cannot take this forever. Not only the no sex part. That's easily solved. I could go to any other girl, waiting in line for me. Yes, I know about the effect I have on them. No, I am not ashamed. What I am is at a dead end. And it doesn't feel good. Not at all. She gets to me and I cannot have that. She might be fine with her parents deciding every little step for her. Maybe she even likes them taking control. I am fine with my father deciding what I study, where I go to college and even with his plan for me to take over the firm. But who I date? Who I spend my life with? Sure as hell not.
***
I am still fuming when I ride the elevator up to our penthouse. When I reach the door to the living room I have calmed my exterior down. That has to be enough. I brace myself and close the door from inside. "Junior!" My mother closes whatever cheesy romance novel she was reading, to get her mind off her own dull life for a second. "Hi Mom." I fake smile, knowing she will believe it either way. "You are home early," It's not a question. It is an accusation. She says You are home early. What she means is What did you do wrong to be home so early? I wait for her to just spit it out. "Is everything fine with Scarlett and you?"
Here we go. "Everything is as fine as it gets with Scarlett and me." "Preston," she begins and I know she is getting serious now. She used my real name. "You know what I told you about this," her face is serious as she scrutinizes mine as if she could find the answer right there. As if I had written I don't give a shit about your arranged relationship ideas, Mom! in upper case letters right on my forehead. I would do it if it did any good. "You need a decent girl by your side. Someone who knows how to act, how to behave." I press my lips tightly together and nod wordlessly, wishing for her to just shut up. Of course, she doesn't. "Do not underestimate her importance for your success!"
If her first sentence made it hard for me to keep my mouth shut, this second one all but tears it open. "Don't you mean her importance for your relationship with Mrs. Deveraux?!" I am getting loud. Somewhere in the back of my head I know this is a bad idea. "Don't you mean her importance for dad's firm?!" My voice rises. Her face falls. "Don't you dare tell me it's about me! Don't you dare tell me it's good for me to spend my life with some shallow girl I have nothing in common with!" My heart hammers against my chest. Hell, it felt more than good to get it off it. Until I hear the door open and close again.
"What do you think you are doing, son?" His voice is ice cold. His posture rigid. "Talk! You didn't have a problem speaking up until two seconds ago." I didn't know he was home. If he had not, there would have been the slight chance of my mother not telling him about my outburst. If I had known, there wouldn't have been an outburst to begin with. "I ...," I begin but stop myself right away. There is no sense in explaining. No sense in rectifying. No sense in resistance. There never is.
"Come here!" It's an order I only know too well. His tone sends a shiver down my back but I don't show it. I force myself to straighten up and cross the room until I stand right in front of him. He follows me with his eyes, his expression unmoving, stoney, hard. Then, he just stares at me. We both know where this will lead. But I'm only too aware that this is already part of it. He wants to see me buckle under his stare, wants to make me feel afraid. Am I afraid? I am. Do I show it? Never. "Do you think that was an appropriate tone to address your mother?" I shake my head. "Out loud, boy." I breathe in to steady my voice as much as possible.
"No, Sir," I say as I force myself to hold his gaze. And I am still holding it as his hand connects with my face. It doesn't really hurt. Maybe because I am used to it. Or maybe because it is less meant to hurt than to humiliate. The marks of his fingers on my cheek will only linger for some minutes. The tight feeling inside my chest will stay a little longer. I should have known better. "I am sorry, mother", I say as clearly as I can through my constricted throat. She only nods briefly, uninterested. She knows as well as I do that this has not the slightest thing to do with her. He expects nothing less than perfection from his son and this is what I get for disappointing him.
"Go to your room. Call the Deveraux girl!"