Bookish and the Beast (Once Upon a Con #3)(21)

Not her.

Not today.

I throw my phone to the other side of my bed. A minute later, the house phone rings.

Don’t answer, I pray to Elias, don’t answer—

“Ah, good afternoon, Elsa. Vance? Oh, no, he’s sleeping right now,” I hear Elias say from downstairs. “I’ll have him call you as soon as he wakes up. Yes, of course. Hope you’re doing—oh, right. Goodbye.”

Then, as if on cue, my phone rings again.

I silence it and put it in airplane mode, then roll off my bed and slip on my sneakers. The easiest way to avoid her is to not be here altogether, because I know she’s just going to keep calling until Elias finally wakes me up, or I cave and answer, and I don’t want to deal with that right now. I grab my earbuds from the desk and make my way down the stairs to the ground floor. There’s a thunderstorm flickering in the distant purple clouds, but they won’t stop me.

Elias is stretched out over one of the couches, watching previously recorded episodes of Days of Our Lives. He glances over as I hurry down the steps. “Your mother’s calling—”

“I’ll call her later.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’ll say it again tomorrow.”

Elias sighs. “She won’t stop, you know. And where are you going? Rosie will be here in a few minutes for you both to start on that library.”

I bark a laugh. “You really think I’m going to help with that library?”

“Natalia said—”

“Leave me alone,” I snap a little sharper than I anticipated, and quickly shove my earbuds into my ears. An apology tinges the edge of my tongue, but I swallow it. It’s not as if an apology will do anything, anyway. “C’mon, Sansa,” I say instead, clicking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

My dog looks up from her perch on the edge of the couch and perks up as soon as I call her name. She bounds over to me, and I grab her lead from the kitchen key hook as we leave.

At least Sansa is on my side.

The afternoon is warm, almost sticky, as if to remind me that I’m no longer in dry, balmy California but a nightmarish nowhere town. I abhor it here. Everything about it. Even the dirt road the house sits on. The gravel crunches under my feet as I jog down the lane. The pine trees are tall, and the sky is slowly fading to pinkish red as the storm clouds roll in.

What does it matter if I answer when my mother rings? I can’t escape her even if I want to. I am the son of Elsa and Gregory Reigns, heir to Kolossal Pictures. I know where I’m going to end up. I know what my life is going to look like.

And I hate it all.

That’s also why I hate Darien Freeman. Because he’s good at everything—because he doesn’t have to act, but he chooses to, and he loves it. I hate him, but I never wanted to ruin him, or the good things he had.

Like Elle.

But it doesn’t matter; I did anyway. I ruin everything that I touch.

As I lead Sansa to the edge of the driveway, a disgusting hatchback pulls up to the curb and that girl gets out. Exactly on time. She makes a movement to wave at me, but I’m already turning down the road with my dog.

There isn’t a single universe where I would willingly arrange a library with anyone, least of all her. It’s a waste of time, and I have better things to do.

Actually, I don’t have better things to do—I have nothing to do, I’m so bored out of my mind I’m trying to unlock every ending in the dating sim Dream Daddy—but she doesn’t have to know that. I’m just biding my time, waiting until my birthday, when I can leave this insufferably small town and go back to my life. And there’s nothing my stepfather can say or do that could stop me.

I just have to wait it out—somehow.

As I run, the cicadas scream and the purple clouds roll closer, and for the time being the sound drowns out the anxiety pulsing in my head. But it’s never for long enough.





“WELL THEN,” I MUTTER TO MYSELF as Vance Reigns jogs away, “screw you, too.”

I push my hurt feelings down into my gut and fish out my umbrella from the trunk of my car. The thunderclouds on the horizon look angry and heavy, and I don’t feel like getting soaked on the way back to my car tonight. I could’ve warned Vance if he’d stopped long enough, but whatever.

If he gets drenched and catches a cold, that’s his own fault.

I highly doubt he’ll make it back in time to help me organize that library. I doubted he would to begin with. You’re not here for him, I remind myself. I take a deep breath and head up the driveway toward the castle-house.

Even in the daytime, this house looks like the kind of place that’ll trap me for the rest of my life and steal my soul and have me haunt the second-floor bathroom until the mold is so thick in the tub it grows its own ecosystem. I hesitantly make my way across the drawbridge. It runs over a small stream that snakes between the road and the house, and when I glance down a frog hops into the knee-deep water and submerges. I swallow the lump in my throat and shakily ring the doorbell, expecting some nightmarish gong.

Instead, there’s a pleasant ring.

A moment later, Mr. Rodriguez pokes his head out of the door. He’s in neatly pressed slacks and his thick peppery hair is smoothed back. He smiles. “Welcome! I’m so glad you could make it.”