Page 32 of Kings & Corruption

Willa

Four hours later, I leaned toward the mirror in the bathroom and studied my finished makeup. Claire had been right: she’d given me everything I’d needed at Walgreens, and I’d done a decent job of shellacking my face with it considering I hadn’t worn heavy makeup in over a year.

The nap had helped. The masturbation session in the bath had helped more.

I felt calmer and more clearheaded than I had since I’d arrived, and I was ready to face my new peers at the ball and start figuring out what had happened to Emma.

Happy with my makeup, I left the bathroom and walked to the closet where I’d stored all the dresses after unpacking them and trying them on. They were all stunning, from the black Saint Laurent to a fluffy white cocktail dress with a feathered skirt by Andrea and Leo.

In the end, I’d gone with a red two-piece by Tom Ford. Made of deep scarlet silk with a cropped one-shoulder top and a simple drapey skirt that brushed the ground, even in the sky-high heels (Louboutins of course) I’d found in one of the boxes, it was not for the faint of heart.

I’d hesitated over it for at least twenty minutes, studying my reflection in the mirror, my desire to stay under the radar warring with the fact that this dress?

Well, this dress made me feel amazing.

And I kind of needed to feel amazing when I walked into the lion’s den tonight. Plus, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed important not to let everyone at Aventine think I was afraid of them. Ours was a world built on three things: honor, reputation, and sheer balls.

I couldn’t do anything about the first one. My dad had fucked that for me. I wasn’t much of a contender on the second either. I mean, I’d run away a year after Emma’s disappearance, and I was absolutely sure my social media posts hadn’t done me any favors.

My pictures from the past year depicted a young carefree girl having the time of her life, not someone broken and grief-filled, struggling with the question of whether her sister was still alive. That had been by design. Who wanted to post a bunch of pics of themselves curled into a ball, sobbing into their pillow?

In any case, my year abroad hadn’t exactly gained me any street cred. I’d have to fix that — starting with the killer dress that would make it clear I didn’t intend to hide in shame at Aventine.

And there was no way I was hiding in the Tom Ford dress. One tanned shoulder (thank you summer sun) was revealed while the other was encased from shoulder to wrist in shimmering red silk. The top stopped just under my boobs, offering a clear view of my stomach above the fitted skirt, which barely covered my navel and skimmed my curves in all the right ways before dropping to the floor in a simple waterfall.

I turned around in front of the full-length mirror in my room, checking the view from behind, satisfied by the fact that it revealed a good portion of my back and hugged my ass just enough to leave a little to the imagination.

I’d styled my hair in a long blonde braid over one shoulder, pulling loose a few wavy tendrils around my face. The effect was sleek but just a little sexy, a perfect accompaniment to the smoky eye and glossy nude lip I’d created with the makeup Claire had picked out for me.

I wished I had some bling to go with it all, but the only jewelry I’d packed were the earrings I’d bought in India. They were ornate and dangly, and without any other jewelry, that would do.

I grabbed the black cutch that I’d found in one of the boxes — Gucci — and took it into the bathroom, where I dug through my stuff until I came up with a hairpin. I tucked it inside the bag with my lip gloss and powder.

Heading back into the bedroom, I was reaching for my phone when it dinged.

I furrowed my brow as I read the text from Oscar in a group chat someone had set up on my new phone under the label THE FOUR BEST FRIENDS THERE EVER EVER WAS.

I exhaled a puff of laughter. Fuckers.

Get your fine ass down here, will you?

Great. As if living with the Kings wasn’t enough, I was apparently going to have to deal with them on my new phone too. I wondered who’d set that up, then decided it had probably been Neo, who seemed to have a special gift for getting on my nerves.

Whatever. Better than having them banging on my door.

I left my room and used the front staircase to get to the main floor. I’d been right in assuming they would all be waiting in the living room, and whoo boy did they look good in their suits and tuxes.

In fact, I was pretty sure there was no finer sight than Rock in a fitted navy velvet tux and Oscar in tailored black pants and a vibrant red and black floral jacket, his black shirt open enough to reveal a patch of smooth skin between his throat and chest.

Except maybe Neo, which I hated admitting, even to myself.

Still, there was no denying it. Sure, he was staring up at me with something like hatred, but somehow it only made him sexier in a steel-gray suit and charcoal shirt, the buttons open even further than Oscar’s. His broad shoulders strained the seams of his jacket, and his pants hugged his thighs like gloves.

I felt the slide of dampness between my thighs and tried to tell myself it was because of Rock and Oscar. I didn’t even want to think about whentheyhad become the safe option in my sexual fantasies.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Rock said, his eyes glued to me as I came down the stairs. He’d used some kind of product to push his blond hair back from his forehead, which only made the perfection of his face more obvious. “I might need a few minutes in a cold shower before we leave.”

Oscar came toward me as I stepped off the staircase. He put a hand possessively on my arm, then bent to murmur in my ear. A lock of his dark hair brushed against my cheek. “I don’t want to embarrass you,” he murmured in my ear, “but he’s right. You’re looking very…”

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