Survival of the Richest (The Trust Fund Duet 1)

“Are you a vampire?” I demand as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Don’t mind her,” Daddy warns in a tone that says teenage girls are stupid. I’m hardly the person to disprove that, but it has way more to do with changing prep schools every single year than the fact that I have a vagina. It’s easier to let everyone think I don’t care.

“I have been known to order my steak rare,” Christopher offers.

I nod in satisfaction. “You have that whole old-soul thing going on. No wonder you’re getting straight A’s. You probably wrote the textbook when you were a professor. And now you have to get a new degree as someone else or people will get suspicious.”

“The typo on page seventy-eight haunts me to this day,” he says in a grave voice.

Daddy stares at me like I’m speaking a different language. “I don’t suppose it factors into this conversation that vampires aren’t real?”

“Not with that attitude, they aren’t.”

A slow smile spreads on Christopher’s face, and my breath stutters. It’s the kind of smile so rare and precious it could be sold at Sotheby’s. Quality, the auctioneer would say, standing in front of the well-dressed crowd, in its raw, natural state. The world is going to want that smile. It’s going to polish him into a sharp geometric shape, hard and gleaming. And it will be worth more money than God.

It’s not until that night that I find Christopher alone, head bent over a thick textbook at his desk, the lamp casting shadows on his furrowed brow. It softens me more than it should, seeing him working hard when no one’s watching. “This a bad time?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

He turns to face me, his expression inscrutable. “Would it stop you if I said yes?”

I pretend to consider this. “You did save my life, but I think that only means I have to save your life back. Or maybe give you my firstborn child? They skipped this part in my etiquette class, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have to respect your time either way.”

“You took an etiquette class?”

“Standard operating procedure for any debutante.”

He shakes his head as if bewildered. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“My curtsy is literally the best curtsy, thank you very much.”

“Not that you’re a debutante. Just—” He waves a hand at the cabin, the whole yacht. “This whole thing. It’s kind of insane, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

That draws me farther into the room. I perch on the end of his bed, which is still neatly made after turndown service. “You didn’t grow up with the silver-spoon thing?”

He snorts. “The only thing silver we had was a ten-year-old Toyota Camry.”

“Then how did your mom bag my dad?” I say the question without thinking. There are too many wives in too many years for me to treat the marriages as anything sacred. Or love, for that matter. Daddy doesn’t even bother inviting me to the ceremony, though I never really know if that says more about the women or about me.

Christopher shrugs like he doesn’t take offense. “Mom came from money, but when she married my dad, they cut her off. He was a hard worker. A regular office job. A 401K. That kind of thing. Then he got cancer, and I… I don’t really begrudge her this. It’s what she wants.”

“That’s very understanding of you.”

“It’s not exactly a hardship,” he says. “Even if I do have to dive into cold water.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, meaning it more than words can convey. It’s a situation plenty of boys would have taken advantage of. The kind of boys who bring roofies to parties and get away with things because they can. The only kind of boys I’ve known until now.

He shakes his head, pushing aside my gratitude. “You wouldn’t have died. Probably.”

“I’m glad you’re good at the whole numbers business thing, because a career in motivational speaking is out of the question for you.”

He leans forward and opens his mouth, as if he’s going to say something important. And then he stops. When he finally speaks, it’s something I never would have expected. “You’re smart,” he says, and I laugh.

“What?”

“You’re smart, but you don’t want anyone to know.”

“I’m not smart, as my grades can definitely attest. We can’t all be valedictorian, can we?”

He laughs a little. “You are so full of shit.”