Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
They were sending me to boarding school.
They were discarding me in Europe and moving to South America without a second thought.
And the worst part? Even though my body shook with rage and fear, I couldn’t find it in me to stand up to them. To interfere. To tell them I would not, under any circumstances, willingly stop living with them. Not because they were great parents, but because they were my only sense of normalcy, no matter how measly and pathetic it was.
“Cuddlebug?” The familiar tenor snapped me out of my sticky, tar-like thoughts.
My head whipped to the direction of the voice. Its owner strolled to me at a leisurely pace, clad in a tailored four-piece suit. Around us, people paused to track his movements, but his eyes remained focused on me. Our gazes tangled, and his signature devious smile lifted a corner of his mouth.
Ferocious joy surged through me. Its touch was fleeting, like a feathery kiss, but I didn’t bother clutching on to it. I knew it would return. Because he had finally arrived.
Oliver von Bismarck.
Count of Carinthia.
The eldest son of Felix von Bismarck, Duke of Carinthia.
And my own personal downfall.
Chapter Two
Briar Rose
Hermes. That’s who he reminded me of. The Greek god of fertility, music, and deception. Of all things debauched. With his wavy, wheat-blond curls, Wedgewood-blue eyes, and patrician angles. The only slightest imperfection in Oliver’s god-like features was his cowlick. That swirl of hair felt like my own private victory. It proved to me that he was mortal, just like us, not completely separate from the rest. From me.
Ollie’s brows knitted together. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He clasped my hands in his, tugging me from the rim of the terrace. “You’re sitting dangerously close to the edge, and you look like you’re about to cry.”
I was about to cry. My parents were discarding me in Switzerland. Did they ever plan on telling me? Or would I wake up one day to an empty home?
Sweat glazed my palms. If I could feel anything beyond utter shock, I knew I’d find them cold with panic. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him nothing. In the end, Oliver von Bismarck was the only person in the world who thought of me as more than an afterthought. I refused to burden him with my issues. Our summers together were supposed to be fun. Light.
I forced myself to laugh, rising to my feet and dusting loose gravel off my butt. “Do I?”
“Yup. Your eyeliner’s running. Don’t tell me it’s a new trend. Last summer, it was nose hair extensions. You’ll never understand the trauma of hopping off a long-ass flight and finding a tarmac full of furries. I thought I landed on the wrong planet.”
I almost laughed, pivoting to swipe at the stupid mascara Mom’s makeup artist had wrangled on me. The full force of the crowd’s attention hit me at once. I’d never get used to it. Not that I needed to. It only ever happened when Ollie accompanied me. He possessed his own gravity, and when he neared, nothing anyone did could ever yank them out of it.
“My eyes are stinging. Probably from getting too close to the fire show downstairs.” I weaved through curious socialites, wandering aimlessly. “What do you want to do?”
We always explored places, sneaking into kitchens and stealing cake whenever the catering staff turned away. It was an unspoken agreement that we’d spend the whole summer together. Our parents owned lake houses three properties apart. Each year, I waited with bated breath to see if Oliver would change his mind, head to sleepaway camp, or simply hang back with his DMV friends.
He always came back to me.
Ollie caught my step, towering over me with his impossible height. “Dance first.”
He grabbed my palm and tugged me to the dancefloor. I bumped into his chest with a soft gasp, not ready to look up and stare into his eyes. He was outrageously beautiful, but he was also my best friend. Well, my only friend.
At fifteen, I was certain Ollie had already kissed plenty of girls, and that suspicion enraged me. I wanted him to be my first kiss, but the possibility of losing what we had terrified me.
“Dance?” I snorted, trying to dislodge my fingers from his. “You hate dancing, Ollie.”
“Can’t pass up a chance to embarrass you, I’m afraid.”
“The only person you’re going to embarrass is yourself.”
Lie. If he wanted to, Ollie could compete professionally. As soon as he could walk without toppling over, his Prussian grandmother, a six-time Blackpool winner, taught him the box step.
“I’m too hot for my own good.” He led me to the center of the dancefloor and stopped. “I have to suck at something.”
Head bowed, he peered up at me. He wore a mischievous glint in his eyes and a dangerous smirk on his bee-stung lips. My heart exploded into a million butterflies. With my parents gone, would this be our last summer together? The thought sent bile up my gut. I swallowed it down, placing my palm in his outstretched hand. As soon as his fingers clasped mine, the song died down.