Bookish and the Beast (Once Upon a Con #3)(30)

My fists clench. “I haven’t ruined my life, unlike you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yeah, well, at least I have one.”

“Had, past tense. You’re here same as me, Reigns.”

Something unsaid sparks in his eyes. “Not for long.”

“Yeah, sure.” Then I turn to the bookshelf again and point up to the shelf I can’t reach. “Now instead of just standing around gracing me with your tallness, could you please reach those books before you…”

But he’s already stalking his way out of the library again like an angry shadow.

I let out a growl toward the smooth, crown-molded ceiling. “Fine. I’ll do it myself. Like everything else!”

Even if it’s almost impossible. Even if, sometimes, I don’t like it. I never go back on my word. My mom taught me that. She said you’re only as good as your promises, and I intend to pay my debt. And I might never have gotten out of this sleepy little town, but that doesn’t mean I never will. Vance is stuck here, same as me, and if he wants to try to get rid of me that badly, I’d like to see him try.

He might be stubborn—but so am I.





SHE FINALLY LEAVES A FEW HOURS LATER, probably still without having reached those books on the top shelf. I really hope she didn’t use the antique table. I don’t want to imagine her footprints all over…whatever sort of old wood that is. I’m rich, not versed in old stuff. There’s a difference. I watch through my bedroom window as she walks down the driveway to the main road, where she always parks her car. She glances at me up in the window and waves goodbye with her middle finger again, then leaves before I can retaliate.

That—she—her—!!

I’ve never met someone else half as stubborn; it really is breathtaking. I’ve acted awfully beastly toward her every day she’s been here and still she stays. Not even my LA friends stayed when I acted like a wanker.

If I’d known she was this infuriating back at ExcelsiCon, I would’ve—I wouldn’t have—

Argh!

I scrub my face with my hands, because she was right. I ruined my life, that’s why my parents sent me to this place, and now I’m stuck here, same as her.

There is a knock on my door and Elias pokes his head in. “Dinner’s about ready. Potato soup tonight—it’s the recipe from that show we watched the other night! I found it online and—”

“Not hungry.”

He sighs. “Ah, you’re still angry.”

“Tired, really.”

Elias leans on the side of the doorway. “Why do you want me to get rid of her so badly?”

Because she’s infuriating, and she’s stubborn, and if she knew who I was—

I grab my jacket from the back of the computer chair and shove my arms into it as I squeeze past him into the hallway. “I’m going for a walk.”

“But dinner—”

“I’m not hungry,” I repeat, and leave though the garage door. I didn’t bring my car—my Tesla was still waterlogged by the time they sent me here—so I start walking down the road toward town. There’s nothing but farms and fields of…some sort of crop. I don’t know what they grow here. Some leafy green things. There aren’t many cars on the road as the sun sinks below the tree line and the sky turns a dark blue, reminding me of the color of Carmindor’s uniform.

It might surprise people, but I was actually ecstatic when I was cast as Sond in the Starfield sequel. When I was little I didn’t have a whole lot of friends. Didn’t realize yet that money could sort of buy you them for a while. I played alone a lot. With action figures. Video games. Things of the like.

And I watched Starfield.

My nanny put it on, actually. She was a girl from university and going through medical school, so she didn’t have much time to entertain me. She’d turn on the telly every day when it came on, and I reckon that was that. My best memories were back then, sitting in that huge living room alone with a bowl of popcorn, and I reckon I should’ve felt alone, at least—but I never did. I was off in space with Carmindor and Amara and Euci.

Sounds stupid, I know. They weren’t real.

But seven-year-old me didn’t know the difference.

Ten years later, I’m still alone, but I’m smart enough to know that Carmindor hates salads and complains about high stunts, and Amara has never even seen the television show, and Euci runs an Etsy shop selling his face on T-shirts.

I wrap my jacket tighter around myself, wondering whether I’m heading into town or away from it, when a neon sign comes into view over the hill—a diner. There aren’t many cars in the parking lot, and my stomach grumbles because I lied to Elias. So I pull my hood up and walk into the restaurant. The seats are all old and faded red, the tiles checkered, polished silver chrome on the walls. Most of the booths are taken, surprisingly, so I sink down onto a barstool at the counter.

An older woman with blondish-white hair pulled up in a bun comes up to me. She wears garishly pink lipstick and smiles so wide I can see some of it on her teeth. “What can I get you, darlin’?”

I glance at the menu, and then tap my finger on the cheese fries. “And a cup of tea please.”

“Lovely choice. I’ll order it right up,” she says with a smile, and brings back a glass of water.