Paper Princess (The Royals #1)(9)
“You…” My voice hitches. “You live here?”
“We live here,” he corrects. “This is your home now, too, Ella.”
This will never be my home. I don’t belong in splendor, I belong in squalor. That’s what I know. It’s what I’m comfortable with, because squalor doesn’t lie to you. It’s not wrapped in a pretty package. It is what it is.
This house is an illusion. It’s polished and pretty, but the dream Callum is trying to sell is as flimsy as paper. Nothing stays shiny forever in this world.
* * *
The interior of the Royal mansion is as extravagant as the exterior. White slabs of tile veined with gray and gold—the kind that banks and doctors’ offices have—span the foyer, which seems to go on for miles. The ceiling never ends either, and I’m tempted to shout something just to see how deep the echo goes.
Stairs on either side of the entrance meet at an actual balcony that overlooks the foyer. The chandelier above my head must contain a hundred lights and so much crystal that if it fell on my head, all they’d be able to find is glass dust. It looks like it belongs in a hotel. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was taken from one.
Everywhere I look I see wealth.
And through it all, Callum watches me with wary eyes, as if he’s stepped inside my mind and realizes how close I am to freaking out. To running hard and fast, because I don’t fucking belong here.
“I know it’s different from what you’re used to,” he says gruffly, “but you’ll get used to this, too. You’re going to like it here. I promise you.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Don’t make promises, Mr. Royal. Not to me, not ever.”
His face goes stricken. “Call me Callum. And I intend to keep any promise I make to you, Ella. Same way I kept every promise I made to your father.”
Something softens inside me. “You…uh…” The words come out awkwardly. “You really cared about my—about Steve, huh?”
“He was my best friend,” Callum says simply. “I trusted him with my life.”
Must be nice. The only person I’ve ever trusted is gone. Dead and buried. I think of Mom, and suddenly I miss her so much my throat closes up.
“Um…” I struggle to sound casual, as if I’m not on the verge of tears or a breakdown. “So do you have a butler or something? Or a housekeeper? Who takes care of this place?”
“I have staff. You won’t be required to scrub floors to earn your keep.” His grin dies off at my unsmiling stare.
“Where’s my letter?”
Callum must sense how close I am to losing it, because his tone softens. “Look, it’s late, and you’ve had a lot of excitement for one day. Why don’t we save this conversation for tomorrow? Right now I just want you to get a good night’s sleep.” He eyes me knowingly. “I get the feeling it’s been a long time since you’ve had one of those.”
He’s right. I take a breath, then exhale slowly. “Where’s my room?”
“I’ll take you up—” He halts when footsteps sound from above us, and I glimpse a flicker of approval in his blue eyes. “Here they are. Gideon is at college, but I asked the others to come down and meet you. They don’t always listen—”
And still don’t, apparently, because whatever orders he issued to the junior Royals are being ignored. And so am I. Not a single gaze flicks in my direction as four dark-haired figures appear at the curved railing of the balcony.
My jaw falls open, just slightly, before I slam it shut, steeling myself against the show of aggression from above. I won’t let them see how much they’ve rattled me, but holy shit, I’m rattled. No, I’m intimidated.
The Royal boys are not what I expected. They don’t look like rich pricks in preppy clothes. They look like terrifying thugs who can snap me like a twig.
Each one is as big as his father, easily six feet tall, and with varying degrees of muscle—the two on the right are leaner, the two on the left are broad-shouldered with sculpted arms. They must be athletes. Nobody is that ripped without working hard for it, bleeding and sweating for it.
I’m nervous now, because nobody has said a word. Not them, not Callum. Even standing far below them, I can see that all his sons have his eyes. Vivid blue and piercing in their intensity—all of it focused on their father.
“Boys,” he finally says. “Come meet our guest.” He shakes his head as if correcting himself. “Come meet the new member of our family.”
Silence.
It’s eerie.
The one in the middle smirks, just a tiny tug on the corner of his mouth. Mocking his father as he rests his muscled forearms on the railing and says nothing.
“Reed.” Callum’s commanding voice bounces off the walls. “Easton.” Another name rattles out. “Sawyer.” Then another. “Sebastian. Get down here. Now.”
They don’t move. The two on the right are twins, I realize. Identical in looks, and in their insolent poses when they cross their arms over their chests. One of the twins glances to the side, casting a barely noticeable look toward the brother on the far left.
A chill runs through me. He’s the one to worry about. He’s the one I need to watch out for.