Page 76 of Gilded Fake

“I’m fine,” she whispers, glancing around at the other students in the lot. They definitely notice when I stride toward the entrance to the school, carrying her in my arms like a bride. Too bad I don’t get to carry her over the threshold to a honeymoon bed where I could get lost in her soft skin and strong thighs, her scent, her taste, her sighs.

By the time we reach the doors to the school, we’re trailed by an entire crowd. I turn to them, and their excited whispers die as they wait for an explanation for why the king-turned-leper-turned-king-again is carrying the disgraced outcast whore.

“This is my queen,” I say, my voice carrying over the upturned faces of the onlookers. “No one fucks with her—no one.”

I wait a moment, watching their gazes skirt away from mine when I try to meet them. There’s that current of unease that’s so different from the adoration I got when I was a king before. That’s the way the Dolce reign works, the way the new royalty has instilled fear in them. But it’s also their discomfort with having to worship someone they once called a golem, their paranoia that I’ll seek revenge on them for the way they treated me before.

Not one person asks what happens if they disobey my direct order.

They wouldn’t dare.

I turn back and throw open the door and march inside with Gloria Walton cradled in my arms. I may not get to lay her down and worship every inch of her magnificent body, but I feel like a conquering hero as I enter Willow Heights with her displayed as my prize. For the first time since I reclaimed my place at the top, I feel the surge of pride and power that used to come with the title. For once, it doesn’t feel hollow or like a sham. With the right queen on my arm, I feel like a king again.

I carry her all the way to her locker, parading her through the halls, my head held high. Then I stop, but I can’t set her down. I want her in my arms forever.

“Gloria?”

She smiles up at me, her hand small and warm on the back of my neck. “Yes, my king?”

“Can I take you to the basement?”

She swallows hard, but she doesn’t drop her gaze. “Just you?” she whispers, her sapphire eyes searching mine.

I open my mouth to say what the fuck, and how could she ask me that. But she has every right to ask, not just because of the Dolces, but because of what I did on Friday. My mouth snaps closed, and I nod, my lips tight, holding her gaze steady even though I want to drop my head in shame. “Just me and you.”

I carry her back down the hall, taking my time, letting everyone see us.

“Everyone’s staring,” she whispers.

I tighten my arms around her. “Let them look.”

“They’re giving me dirty looks,” she says. “It’s different for you.”

“Trust me, I’ve been there,” I say. “I understand exactly what you mean, butterfly. But that’s not what they’re thinking now. People envy what they can never have.”

“Which one of us are you saying they can never have?”

“Both,” I say, opening the door to the library.

I make my way back through the stacks, past one of the sitting areas with cozy leather couches, lamps, tables, and potted plants, past the circulation desk. There’s no sign of the librarian, but the shelf that hides the door to the basement protrudes a few inches instead of blending seamlessly with the next one.

I hesitate, unsure I want to go down there now that I’m here. I could have rejoined the Midnight Swans when I rejoined the elite circle, but the basement holds dark memories I’d rather not revisit.

“What’s wrong?” Gloria asks, her fingers tracing the ink on the side of my neck.

“Nothing,” I say, not moving. “I… I haven’t been back since that day.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh,” she says. “Oh, shit. Do you want to go somewhere else? We could go to the locker room again. Or that storage closet where Rylan was hiding. That would be a kind of poetic justice.”

“No,” I say, swallowing past the sick feeling in my throat. I stare at the shelf as if I can make it move, as if it can open and close a thousand times in reverse to bring me back to that day, when I wouldn’t have opened it at all. But then maybe none of this would have happened, and I might not be standing here with forever in my arms.

“If someone’s down there, you know I won’t let them hurt you, right?” I ask, searching her eyes. “I won’t let them touch you.”

She stares up at me for a moment before she nods, her face full of sympathy instead of the fear and trepidation I expected. I’m asking her to trust me, and she’s only afraid for me. It does something fucked up to my head, and I want to reach for another pill, but my hands are full of her. I shift her weight into one arm so I can use the other.

Slowly, I reach out and pull the shelf forward. It swings open, and we step inside. Gloria pulls it closed behind us, and I start down the steps, placing my feet carefully so I won’t trip and drop her. By the time we reach the bottom of the stairs, I’m on edge, my muscles tight and my heartbeat erratic.

I check both rooms, finding them both empty.

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