Page 53 of Scarred Crown

Jules and I tell each other everything, and she’s never hinted at any sort of crush on Alex. We both think he’s annoying. Pompous, arrogant, and a thousand other unflattering adjectives.

“I’m everyone’s type.” Alex chuckles.

I snort, and Brice outright laughs.

“Jules and Nick are probably secreting banging behind everyone’s backs anyway.” Brice grabs a pack of gum off the table and shoves it into his pocket.

I flush, and Alex’s jaw tightens at our brother’s blithe comment.

“That’s not what’s going on between me and Jules,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Don’t feed me the line about being just friends. I see the way you look at her.” Brice gives me a sly smile.

“They’re just friends,” Alex says.

He saves me the denial, but there’s something about the vehement way he disputes Brice’s claim that makes my gut twist, and a heaviness settles on my chest. Before I can question my unease, our mother waltzes into the room to survey the three of us.

“The guests are coming through the gates,” she declares, and a genuine grin emerges. “Let’s go celebrate your father.”

I want to ask if the Jensens have arrived, but I hold back my question. Brice will laugh, and Alex will glower at me. He’s come to hate how close Jules and I are. Of that, I’m sure.

We haven’t seen each other all day, and I’m like an addict in need of a fix. A few text messages back and forth doesn’t satisfy me anymore, and that realization is terrifying. The next boyfriend Jules has might ruin me, and every day I pray I can keep her close enough no one will be able to compete.

I should tell her how I feel, but I can’t bring myself to risk rejection, risk our friendship to throw myself in the running for her heart.

If she doesn’t return my feelings, can I handle it?

That unanswered question is the main reason I haven’t done anything. Right now, I’ve got Jules. She’s mine in almost every way that truly matters. But trying to talk myself out of longing for what I don’t have is getting more and more difficult. I want to do things with her that have nothing to do with friendship.

We follow our mother out of the room and down the staircase to the front entrance. There, we form a second set of greeters after my father’s centerstage position. I scan the ballroom, checking to see if Jules and her family arrived early, but it’s still empty. When I turn back to the door, my breath catches.

There she is.

Her parents partially block my view of her, but as soon as they move past the king, my gaze locks on hers. Her deep red ball gown is strapless and hugs her curves before billowing down to the floor. I’ve seen her dressed up so many times, but my heart has never raced at the sight of her before.

Gorgeous. She’s gorgeous. Warmth floods my body. True or not, it feels like she’s mine.

She curtsies for my father with her sister and wishes him a happy birthday. When she gets to me, Brice, and Alex, she makes another curtsy, this one mocking in nature. She shoots me a playful smile, and her gaze slides over Brice and Alex, polite, but distant.

The tightness in my chest from Alex’s earlier comment eases as she hustles away clutching Posey’s hand and trailing her parents. I can’t help turning to watch her go, and when I face forward again, I notice Alex also watched her go.

Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t. She would never.

Once the guests have trickled in, we’re free for the rest of the night to spend time with whomever we want. I search the crowd for Jules, but before I can locate her, Vicky catches sight of me. My parents invite her family every year, but they don’t always attend. I hoped they’d be no-shows this year to avoid the awkward in-person conversation I’ve been sidestepping since I broke up with her.

No such luck.

I spot Jules in the crowd, and I start to make a beeline for her when Vicky steps in front of me.

“Can we talk somewhere?” she asks.

Her dress is short, low-cut, and a shimmery silver. Not really royal event appropriate. I’m surprised her parents let her get away with it, but I suppose most people aren’t raised under an iron fist of decorum. Yet another reason Vicky wasn’t a good fit for me. Is she hot? Sure. Sensible? Not a fucking chance.

“I, uh, actually.” I gesture ahead of me as though I have somewhere important to go. But then the music in the ballroom slows, and Alex leads Jules into the middle of the floor where other couples are beginning to dance together.

Vicky is talking to me, but I’m not listening. I can’t tear my gaze off Alex and Jules. His hands are all over her, and she’s stiff as a board. She looks incredibly uncomfortable. I can’t stop my jaw from tightening.

God, my brother cannot take a hint.