Page 2 of I Was Always Yours (RCA: Royal Crown Academy)

“Who are you?”

The girl is crouched low to the ground, picking wildflowers from the field at the edge of my family’s vast property as she hums softly under her breath.

I’m not sure how old she is or what she looks like because her face is hidden behind her hair. It falls in shiny waves to the bottom of her back and my fingers itch to comb through the thick, silky strands.

And it’s red.

So red that it reflected the sunlight and caught my eye from across the field, pulling me away from the party and guiding me straight to its owner like a beacon.

I was transfixed by it as I got closer to her. I’d never seen hair that rich in color before and there was so much of it that it covered her entire back as she crouched.

When she doesn’t answer me, I take a step forward and my shadow falls over her, startling her.

She turns on her heels and looks up at me as she takes her headphones out with one hand. She places the other on her brow to keep the sun’s glare out of her eyes, partially obscuring her face in the process.

While I can’t make out her features, I’m sure that she’s a stranger because I don’t know anyone with hair like hers.

I’d remember it if I did.

“Who are you?” I repeat.

Instead of answering, she drops her hand and stands, throwing the question back at me as if she’s not the one trespassing on my parents’ property.

“Who areyou?” She asks, and I detect the hint of an accent.

The second she stands; she gets her first good look at me.

But the second she removes her hand; I get my first good look ather.

Her deep green eyes sit above a pert button nose and bore into mine as a breath catches between her bee stung lips. Her entire face is covered with freckles artfully strewn over her forehead, cheeks, nose and even the corners of her mouth.

She’s a beautiful trespasser and she stares back at me with the same transfixed expression that I feel, although I work to keep mine off my face.

Controlling my facial expressions to remain carefully blank is a skill I’ve honed over the past couple of years so that I can chameleon myself when the situation calls for it.

Silence stretches as we stare at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s peaceful, like being in the company of an old friend.

My eyes drop to where her fingers anxiously play with the stems of the flowers in her hands, the only outward sign that our meeting flusters her in any way.

“What are you doing with those flowers?”

Her eyes flick down to them and a brilliant smile blooms on her face as she looks back up at me.

That smile carries the weight of a punch to the solar plexus when it’s directed at me, and I find myself wanting to smile back.

“They’re for Astor.” She extends them towards me so I can smell them, “Aren’t they pretty?”

That’s a second punch to the gut as I realize that she’s here for him.

Of course she’s here for him.

I’m surprised this is my first time seeing her, especially since the birthday party started hours ago. I’m not sure how she or her hair went unnoticed by me, even with the several dozen other kids in attendance.

Of those, very few of them are my friends. Instead, most of them are children of my father’s associates or enemies. Kids strategically chosen to be favored or kept under watchful eye to further alliances in my family’s empire.

Sheseems to be Astor’s.

I bat the flowers away without smelling them and cross my arms over my chest.

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