The Silver Swan (The Elite King's Club 1)

“So, Madison, how has school been?” Elena asks from the passenger seat.

“It’s been good.”

“Madi has settled right in.” Nate smirks from his seat. “Haven’t you, sis?”

The fact the same lips I was just kissing called me sis makes me gag. The hell was I thinking? My father looks at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, I’ve found one or two great friends.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket as Elena shoots her questions at Nate. I slide my phone unlocked.

Bishop – we need to talk.

Is he serious?

Me – We really don’t.

Bishop – I’m not Nate, Madison. I don’t just stick my dick in every girl I see. We. Need. To. Talk.

Me – The way Ally paws at you, you could have fooled me.

Bishop – Jealous?

Me – No. And no, I don’t want to or need to talk. Just forget it happened. I’m pretty much with Carter now.

Lies. Why the fuck did I just say that? It’s the year 2017. We have drones, cars that can go in water, and men who walk on the moon. Why the hell haven’t they figured out how to unsend a text message? I don’t know who “they” are, but I’m blaming it on Apple.

Bishop – Careful, kitty…

I roll my eyes and push my phone back into my pocket. Nate’s leg nudges mine, and I look up at him, the passing streetlights illuminating his sharp features. “What?” I ask.

“Who was that?”

“No one.”

I look out the window, ignoring his gaze. How is it that, in a matter of weeks, I’ve woven this messy web? Suddenly, I’m wanting to be that new girl again, the one who was walking the halls for the first time ever.

“Dad?” I prompt, pressing my forehead against my cool window.

“Yeah?”

I exhale. “Can you fit in a round tomorrow before you leave?”

There’s a long pause, and I close my eyes. If he says no, I might break. After everything that’s happening around me, I want my dad with me, shooting like we used to. I need it to bring me back down from whatever cloud I’ve drifted off on.

“Sure, baby girl.” I exhale at his answer, my shoulders slacking and my stress already lifting somewhat.

Once we’ve pulled into the restaurant parking lot, I get out my side of the SUV and Elena looks at me. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you and Nate get along.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say get along.”

“He cares about you,” she assures, closing her door. “That counts for something, because Nate cares about very little. Apart from his friends.”

I close my door and nod. “I guess we get along a little bit.”

Elena smiles and hooks her arm into mine. “So tell me. You like guns?”

After a surprisingly normal dinner, we came home, and Nate left almost instantly. We hardly spoke through dinner, as though the mistake was already forgotten. Works for me, because it won’t be happening again. There’s a light knock on my door just as I’m about to get into my pajamas and start on my English paper.

“Come in!” I yell out, rummaging through my closet. It’s still a mess from the party, and in other cases, I would be the first to clean it, but I’ve found myself more relaxed lately, sedated almost.

“Hey, sugar!” Tatum walks in, with Tillie following closely behind her.

“Hey!” I smile at both of them. “What are you two doing?”

“We thought we’d come see you, since you pulled a sicky on us and bailed.” Tatum takes a seat on my bed, and Tillie slips onto the chair beside my white study desk.

“Yeah,” I mutter, finding my tank top and pulling it on. “Sorry about that.”

This is awkward; even though the mistake meant nothing to me, I don’t know if it would mean anything to Tatum. She says that Nate was just a “nothing” to her, but don’t we all say that?

“I brought my favorite friend.” Tatum whips out a blue book-style box with gold trimming.

“No way!” I gush, walking toward her. “Debauve & Gallais’s Le Livre?” I blurt out excitedly.

“Geez,” Tatum mutters. “Your French is more immaculate than mine, and I lived there for a year.”

I wave her off. “I’ve studied the language, and the culture, and in this case… the chocolates!” I open the gold-embossed leather box and inhale the sweet, rich smell of ganaches and pralines. “Mmm.” I take one out. “I haven’t had these in years.”

Tatum looks toward Tillie and rolls her eyes. “Don’t let this pig eat them all. Come taste.”

Tillie swallows nervously and then steps toward us. I fight the urge to snatch the box and run away like a cavewoman.

“What’s so great about it? It’s just chocolate, right?” Tillie asks, picking up one of the pralines. I pause my chewing, narrowing my eyes. Insult chocolate, you should not. Especially Sulpice Debauve’s fine work.

“Aside from the fact that you have to be on a waitlist to order a box and it’s five-hundred or so dollars? Not much.” Tatum shrugs.