One
Trigger Warning
Like most bully romances, this book contains dark themes and subjects that may be uncomfortable for some. To avoid spoilers, I cannot list every specific instance. Only you know your limits. If you’re a sensitive reader, this series may not be for you. Please read responsibly.
Crystal
There’s life, and there’s life without Royal. But that’s too simple. Because life without Royal isn’t life. Without Royal… Life. Stops.
“Come on, Crys, you gotta eat,” Duke coaxes as we sit huddled over a table at a diner that smells like cheap fryer oil and imitation maple syrup.
“I can’t eat,” I mumble, dropping my phone into my bag and pushing away my plate of pancakes and sausage.
“Want ice cream?” King asks.
“It’s not even noon yet,” I point out. “It’s not on the menu.”
“I bet I could make it appear for you,” he says, taking my hand.
The thought of my favorite food makes my stomach cramp, and I nod. I know they’re trying to be nice. But I can’t bear the thought of just sitting here while Royal is gone.
King appears a minute later with a piece of apple pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting down the sides. “You gotta eat, baby sis,” he says, setting it in front of me.
“We have to do something,” I say, taking a bite. I taste nothing as I swallow the warm, spicy pie and cold, sweet ice cream. I only feel the jagged hole left where my heart used to be, scraped out and hollow as if Devlin reached down my throat with an ice cream scoop.
And then I can’t breathe, and tears spring to my eyes. I try to swallow the pie, but it lodges in my throat. Tears spill down my cheeks, dripping into my ice cream.
“Crys,” King says, sliding around the table and wrapping a strong arm around me. He knows I’m not a crier, but this… These aren’t ordinary circumstances. Today, I’m a crier.
Suddenly, the horror of King’s revelation about Royal and the realization that I inadvertently played into it is too much. I bolt out of my seat, fly through the door, and fall on my knees in the bathroom, emptying my stomach and retching on bile until it hurts too badly to go on. When I sit up, all three of my brothers are standing behind me, ready to hold my hair. But all I can think is…It should be four.
This time, they can’t say the right words to make me feel better. This time, there are no right words, and nothing can make me feel better. Nothing can make me feel at all.
I thought I was numb after finding out a girl I bullied tried to end her life. Every day I fought the demons that whispered in my ears that I’d been found out, that everyone knew I was a fraud. My brothers were still royalty, but I no longer felt like their Dolce Princess. When people found out, they began to fight for my throne. They wanted to take me down. Half of being queen is believing you are, after all. Believing you deserve it. And I knew I didn’t.
For six months, I was falling. Falling from grace. I walked around school watching my throne crumble, watching myself tumble from it in slow motion. I didn’t care anymore.
But that was nothing compared to this. King could still take me out for ice cream and make me feel better back then. Duke could still be ridiculous and make me laugh. Now… Ice cream makes me puke and the thought of laughing or feeling better is a betrayal.
“This was a bad idea,” King says, wrapping an arm around me when I’m done washing my face. “Fix your makeup, and let’s go home.”
Home. Right next door to Devlin Darling, who used me to keep me out of the way while Preston—
I won’t think the word. I won’t think about what he did. I won’t think about a world where Royal Dolce isn’t my brother, my twin, the brave, reckless half that never gets to come out in me. I have to be a Dolce daughter, to cultivate an image, to emulate my mother’s effortless beauty and be my daddy’s little angel. I don’t get to fight and fuck and black out drunk like my brothers.
I have to fix my makeup and tighten up my pony, so even while I’m shattering into a million crystal shards inside, I present a flawless face to the world.
A middle-aged woman with a Karen haircut and an Old Navy wardrobe tries to come in the bathroom, but Baron shoves it closed in her face. “Go on,” he says to me, leaning back against the door so no one else will disturb us.
I do as I’m told without question. I can’t feel my hands, but they know what to do. Ten minutes later, my face is in place. Unless you look closely, you’d never even notice that my eyes are still a little red from puking and crying.
We leave the bathroom, ignoring the manager and the Karen and her husband, who are all yelling at us. We don’t hurry or dawdle. We walk out of the diner like four kids who just ate breakfast like anyone else, on any other day. Like our brother didn’t disappear last night.
When we pull up at the house, I jolt forward against the seatbelt, a scream tearing from my throat. In the driveway, lights flashing, sits a police car.
two
Crystal