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My brain can’t even comprehend the concept of two hundred and fifty thousand euros. I know the apartment I lived in with my father is worth sixty thousand. A little over four apartments?
I also know how much my tuition is for the next year at Crompton College: ten thousand a year. I couldn’t afford that, but it, along with the eight grand for housing, is covered by my scholarship.
I have another acceptance burning a hole in my bedside drawer: the Royal University of Anderia, one of the best colleges in the entire freaking world. They offered me a social scholarship, covering housing, but nothing for the tuition—unsurprisingly. I have good grades, but just getting in was a miracle; the merit scholarships are only given to geniuses like Jinx, or the one-in-a-million talents like Tricks.
The tuition is fifty thousand a year for Anderian. I considered getting a loan for it, but dismissed the idea. How the hell would I ever repay it, when my choice of study takes seven years?
But if Callum is serious…I could do it. His money could pay for my entire undergrad and then I’d just have to fork out for the post-grad years. And I’d have four years to save up for it.
I bite my lip hard enough to bruise.
Me: Tell me why you picked me.
I need to understand that.
Royal Psycho: That’s a complicated answer and not one I want to give via text. Meet me tomorrow?
Me: Right. So you can kidnap me, have your way with me, and get your minions to dump the body in the nearest river.
Royal Psycho: Is that why you’re saying no, love? You’re afraid of me.
I’d be insane not to be.
Before I reply, he sends me a new message: an address in the posh part of town.
Le Luminaris.
I’ve heard the name somewhere but I can’t immediately place it. A quick Google search tells me that it’s the place to be, the restaurant frequented by the famous, the wealthy, and the beautiful youth of Anderia. The crown prince and his siblings are frequent patrons.
Royal Psycho: Tomorrow, 6 pm. You can meet me at the doors, where a hundred paps will take pictures of us entering together. And if your body is found in any shallow rivers in the next few weeks, I’d be the prime suspect. Would that suit?
I stare at the message, trying to name the different feelings flooding my brain. Confusion, interest, bafflement, relief.
I might have played it off as a joke but part of me was genuinely worried about what he planned to do to me. If he’s serious about being seen in public with me, then murder, or general harm, is likely not part of his plan.
Oh my god, I’m genuinely considering that nonsense. I am a cat. I really hope it’s not lethal. At least, the word is, we have nine lives, and I’m only on my first one.
Me: I’m telling my best friend everything you say.
Royal Psycho: Tricks, right? If you must. She already has an NDA.
He knows Tricks?
I have about a million more questions now.
Me: I don’t have anything to wear someplace like that.
He’s responded almost immediately to each of my texts but now, he takes a minute.
Royal Psycho: Get something red. See you at six.
I’m about to shoot another protest, and maybe suggest my local pizza joint instead, when I get another text—from my bank.
I have an alert set up to tell me whenever I get, or spend, more than a thousand bucks.
Automatic notification: you have received 2500 euros at 1:47 am on 17th of July 2021, from Sir Callum Edward Charles Roissy-Noble.
Me: ?????
