Broken Kingdom (Royal Hearts Academy #4)(37)

She laughs, but there’s no humor. “Well, for starters, the girl is always blowing up Oakley’s phone at all hours, so she’s obviously not over him.” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “And sometimes she—” her voice trails off.

“Sometimes she what?” I prompt.

“Well…sometimes she says really mean things about you. Like how you’re always so rude to everyone.” She starts ticking things off with her fingers. “She also said you make fun of people with disabilities. And you never tip the waiters and waitresses when you go out. Oh, and you sleep with a bunch of guys—”

“That’s not true,” I all but screech.

I’m not exactly Miss Mary fucking Sunshine—but I always make sure to tip the waitstaff and I don’t sleep around.

Not that there’s anything wrong with girls who do.

But most of all? I would never ever in a million fucking years make fun of anyone with a disability.

Christ. No wonder Oakley thinks so low of me.

The bitch has been sabotaging me behind my back this entire time.

I’m so angry, I’m seeing red as I brush past Morgan. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Where are you going?” she calls out.

To handle this shit for once and all.





“Do you have an appointment?” the woman at the front desk questions.

“No, but I called earlier, and you said you could get me on the schedule today.”

“Okie dokie. Let me check you in.” Not bothering to look up, she presses a few keys on her keyboard. “What’s your name?”

“Bianca Covington.”

That gets her attention.

Not that I’m surprised. Given my father is the owner of Trust Pharmaceuticals, my last name is the equivalent of gold in the medical community.

Smiling tersely, she presses a few more keys. “All checked in. However, Dr. Young is running a little late this afternoon, so it will be a bit.”

I have all the time in the world.

I find a seat far away from the crotch goblin sitting on the other side of the waiting room.

Evidently not far enough though, because she walks up to me.

The little girl with messy pigtails—who looks to be about eight years old—gives me a big toothy grin.

Well, what’s left of her teeth, because a few are missing.

“Hi.”

I avert my gaze because if you don’t make eye contact they’ll eventually go away.

Hands on her hips, she looks me up and down curiously. “Where is your baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Where is your mother?”

Her cheerful demeanor evaporates. “I don’t have one anymore.”

“Oh.”

Join the club, kiddo.

Twisting one of her pigtails around her finger, she gestures behind her. “My dad went to the bathroom.” Cupping a hand over her mouth she leans in like she wants to tell me a secret. “But I think he’s talking to Dr. Young without me.”

I swallow hard. “Because of your mom?”

Her eyes wander to the floor. “I really miss her.”

Me too.

Folding her arms, she purses her lips. “I don’t like coming here.”

I instinctively stiffen. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes talking about mommy makes me cry.”

Yeah, I get that.

Feeling a kinship between us, I tell her a secret of my own. “Well, you don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. You can ask to play games or bring a coloring book and draw instead.”

She looks shocked. “Really?”

“Yup. Therapy is your time.”

“Won’t he get mad?”

“He shouldn’t. But, if he does, ask to see a different psychiatrist because this one sucks.”

This new knowledge lights her up like a Christmas tree. “I like you. What’s your name?”

“Bianca.”

“Hi, Bianca.” She holds out her hand triumphantly. “My name is Angelica.”

I shake her hand. “Hi.”

She gives me another toothy grin. “You already said that.” Her eyes widen when she looks down at my bracelet. “Wow. That’s nice.”

I want to point out that it’s a fifteen-thousand-dollar white gold and diamond Cartier bracelet so it’s a lot more than nice, but a man in a suit walks over to us.

“Young lady, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that maybe if he didn’t leave his kid unattended, she wouldn’t, but Angelica stomps her foot and whines, “She’s nice, Daddy. And so pretty…just like Mommy was.”

Angelica turns to me. “Maybe you can be my new mommy?”

Her father turns ten different shades of red. “Angelica, please stop harassing her.” He looks at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry. My wife passed away seven months ago, and she’s been looking…” His voice drifts off.

For another female to fill the void.

Unfortunately for Angelica and myself, it’s one that can never be filled.

He tugs on her hand. “Come on, let’s go get some ice cream.”