Page 173 of Dukes of Peril

He sighs and squeezes them one last time before stepping back and assessing me. “God, the crowd is going to lose it over your nipples.”

“Are you trying to make Nick lose his shit and fly into a jealous rage?”

He grins. “I mean, it would definitely add an extra dose of excitement to the night.” His fingers grab for my hips but don’t make purchase, sliding right off. His smile falters as he realizes thathealso can't get a hand on me. “Just kick her ass, okay? This is the first time we’ve had two Queens battling it out, and there’s a lot on the table.”

I level him with an unimpressed look. “You mean bets.”

“Bragging rights, money, who gets to fuck you first tonight…” He hooks a finger in my bikini bottom and drags me close, capturing my mouth in a tongue-thrusting kiss. I slide my hands into his hair, and it isn’t long before I begin wondering how much time we have to maybe, possibly–

Knock knock.

He groans against my mouth. “I’ll get rid of them.”

“No,” I say, grabbing my bikini top. “See who it is and give me time to get dressed.”

He cracks the door open, greeting, “Hey, Verity.”

“Oh, thank god,” I say. “Come in, please.” His eyes dart down to my tits, barely covered by the arm I have pressed over them, the bikini top hanging from my fingertips. I give him a stern look. “Let her in.”

He swings the door open to reveal Verity, her red hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She assesses me with a wince. “Sorry! I can come back later. I know you’re busy, I just–”

“Please,” I say, shooing Remy out the door. Verity enters and I reach behind her to flip the lock. “This bikini that Remy’s friend made for me has some intricate strap system that I can’t manage by myself, and the person who’s supposed to be helping me is as distractible as a two-year-old.”

She eyes the tangle of straps and sets her purse on a chair, chuckling. “Sure, happy to help.”

We move in front of the dressing mirror and I manage to get my tits into the cups–sort of. Verity’s job will be to navigate the criss-cross mess in the back. “So you needed to talk to me?” I ask, noticing how quiet she is.

Her eyes jump to mine in the mirror. “It’s not important. We can talk about it when you’re not about to jump into a pit filled with Jell-O. I’m sure you need to focus.”

“Verity.” I catch her eye in the mirror. “I need a distraction from the horror that has become my life. Do I really look like the kind of girl who wants to wrestle my friend in front of two-hundred horny frat boys?”

She pauses before saying, “Not really,” but there’s a small smile on her lips as she untangles the straps and begins criss-crossing them over my back. “But you did kick Haley’s ass. I feel like you have a pretty good shot at winning.”

It wouldn’t be a lie to say I’m flattered. “Thanks. Now, what’s going on?” I’ve spent enough time around her to know when that usually sweet bubbly demeanor is being weighed down with something serious.

Scrunching her lips, she ties the strings in a knot, tugging on it to make sure it’s secure. “Well, there is… something.” Turning, she bends to unzip her purse, extracting an envelope. She thrusts it out to me while averting her gaze.

Frowning, I step closer to read it, seeing her name written on the front in a fancy script.Verity Sinclaire.“What’s this?” I ask, noting the thickness of the paper. Lush. Wealthy. “A wedding invitation?”

A nervous laugh escapes her lips. “Not exactly.” She removes a thick piece of cardstock and holds it out for me to see. I don’t touch it, not with all this oil on my fingers, but I can see it definitely is an invitation. There’s a crown embossed at the top, and it’s embellished with shiny gold and silver foil. The text is broken up into lines of simple script and elegant cursive.

It reads:

Verity Sinclaire has been cordially invited to attend the Princes’ seventy-eighth Masquerade ball, which will be celebrated at the purple palace on January 6th.

As an esteemed guest of honor, you’ll have the opportunity to become Forsyth’s next Princess, a position of the highest prestige.

Your attire and accommodations will be provided.

Respond by January 3rd.

“I don’t know why I would get an invitation like this.” She looks down at the paper like she’s trying to find a missing clue. “Usually, they pick girls from the higher tier sororities or daughters of former non-heir Princes. Cutsluts wouldn’t even rank.”

I try to find the missing clue myself. “That is weird.” I squirm around as I adjust my top. “Do you think it’s a joke? A way to get back at us for some reason?” I wouldn’t put it past those guys to bring in some unsuspecting girls just to cut them down and humiliate them for kicks. Invite the low West Ender to their fancy Princess coronation as if she has a chance, and then completely dump on her.

“Seems pretty elaborate.”

Unhappy by this possibility, I ask, “Have you shown your mom?”

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