Chapter 15

15

NINA

My phone pings as I’m descending the stairs. I fish it out of my pocket and my heart nearly stops when I see the message:

The Prince of Darkness

If you want to polish my horns later, darling, all you have to do is ask. *smiley devil emoji*

I freeze mid-step, gripping the banister. Memories of the kiss come flooding back—Tristan’s strong hands on my waist, his lips firm and insistent against mine, the taste of evil seduction on his breath. It was electric, intoxicating… and over far too soon thanks to my brother’s untimely intrusion.

I close my eyes, reliving the way Tristan touched me in the closet next, his fingers trailing fire along my legs. A shiver races down my spine. What is he playing at? Is this just another one of his games, part of his endless mission to get under my skin and toy with my emotions? Kiss me senseless one moment and toss me aside the next?

I inhale deeply, trying to calm my labored breathing. I can’t let myself fall for Tristan’s charms, no matter how much my traitorous body wants to melt into his touch. He’s danger wrapped in a dark-haired, blue-eyed package. My brother’s best friend. A notorious heartbreaker.

Steeling my resolve, I right my spine and continue down the stairs, locking my phone without replying. Two can play this game, Montgomery. And I have no intention of losing… even if resisting him may be the greatest challenge of my life.

I find Mom in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. “Hey,” I say softly, biting my lip. “I’m really sorry about the vase. I didn’t mean to?—”

She turns, her face softening as she pulls me into a hug. “Oh, honey. It’s okay. It was an accident.”

Relief washes over me as I sink into her embrace, inhaling the comforting scent of her vanilla perfume. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks, pulling back to study my face. “I can whip up some pancakes or?—”

“No, I’m good,” I assure her.

“But you skipped lunch.”

“I um… found something to eat.” I keep vague, not wanting to rat on my dad.

Mom’s eyes narrow. “You mean you raided your father’s secret stash.” She makes air quotes over secret.

My mouth dangles open. Mom knows about Dad’s clandestine junk food supply?

At my shocked expression, she bursts out laughing. “Oh, baby, nothing goes on in this house that I don’t know about.”

I can’t help it; I flush red from head to toe. I hope there is at least something going on in this house that she doesn’t know about. Like her daughter canoodling with the evil houseguest.

I force myself to join in her laughter, the tension still taut in my shoulders as I try to push thoughts of the Prince of Confusing Me aside. “Like father, like daughter, I guess.”

The back door opens and Tristan himself strolls in, his cheeks flushed from the cold, a dusting of snow in his midnight hair. Heat pools in my core as our eyes meet, invisible wires connecting us.

He smirks, shrugging off his coat. “What’s so funny?”

Before I can come up with a snarky retort, Dylan also enters the kitchen, clapping Tristan on the shoulder. “There you are. Was your stroll in the Arctic fun?”

Tristan must’ve used the excuse of going for a walk to cover his tracks and explain his disappearance. Now, eyes never leaving mine, he says, “Oh, the chill outside has nothing on the heat I’ve found indoors.”

If spines could melt, I’d be an invertebrate by now.

“That’s poetic, I guess.” Dylan coughs, unsure. To him and Mom, Tristan probably isn’t making any sense. “But if you’re done channeling your inner Elsa, are you ready to lose at Call of Duty , Eleven?”

I roll my eyes at the fact that they still call each other by their college basketball numbers.

Tristan tears his gaze away from mine, grinning at my brother. “In your dreams, Thirty-three.”

As they head down to the basement, their good-natured ribbing fading away, I release a shaky breath. Being in the same room as Tristan is dangerous, every single one of my senses is attuned to his presence.

Even if I’ve been pardoned and my exile revoked, I retreat to my bedroom, needing space to clear my head. Slumping onto my bed, I grab my phone and shoot a group text to my best friends.

Nina

The Prince of Darkness kissed me.

*face screaming in fear emoji*

*kiss mark emoji*

Their responses come in a vortex of multiple pings, a mix of shock, awe, and concern. But before I can even compose a reply, my phone rings with a three-way video call. I pick up, glad to hear their voices.

“Spill. Everything. Now,” Hunter demands before I’ve had time to say hello.

I launch into the whole sordid tale—Tristan’s sudden appearance, the escalating pranks, the charged moment in the basement, the toe-curling semi-kiss, and the groping in the closet. “If Dylan hadn’t interrupted…” I trail off, my cheeks burning.

“Whoa,” Rowena breathes. “That’s… intense.”

“Too intense,” Hunter warns. “Sweetie, be careful. Tristan Montgomery has left a trail of broken hearts from New York to Hawaii. I don’t want you to be his next conquest.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. “I know, I know. It’s just… when he touches me, I forget how to think straight.”

“So you don’t hate him anymore?” Rowena asks. “After all those years of him calling you Gremlin.”

I realize one thing now that she mentions it. “He hasn’t called me Gremlin once since he got here.”

Hunter scrunches her face on the screen. “What do you think that means?”

“I have no clue. Should I ask him?”

“Would you trust whatever he said back?”

“I don’t knooow,” I groan.

“Stay strong,” Rowena encourages. “Don’t let him get in your head… or your heart.”

“Or your bed,” Hunter trills.

“Easier said than done,” I mutter, glancing at the clock. “I gotta go, dinner’s almost ready. Pray for me.”

As I end the call with Rowena and Hunter, a smile lingers on my face. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, talking with my best friends always lifts my spirits. They are truly my soul sisters.

I tap my screen and stare at the wallpaper. It’s a selfie of us taken almost ten years ago on the night we met. We’re all wearing similar pink dresses, standing facing the camera in various states of disarray. Hair wet from the rain, melting makeup running down our cheeks, and in Rowena’s case, the aftermath of an allergic reaction still very visible under her bright smile.

My mind wanders back to that fateful Halloween our sophomore year of college. Unlike Tristan and Dylan, who were randomly slapped together in the same dorm room their freshman year, the three of us had to find each other. And find each other we did, in the only twenty-four-hour diner on campus, just after midnight.

As I pushed open the door, eager to escape the beating rain and an even stingier humiliation, a little bell jingled overhead. Glancing around the nearly empty diner, my eyes landed on another girl hunched over a giant milkshake in a corner booth. I did a double-take.

Hunter was wearing an Elle Woods costume, just like me. Pink dress, blonde wig—her, I kept my already natural blonde hair—and a toy chihuahua in her purse. For a second, we gaped at each other, jaws dropping. Then, as if on cue, the door chimed again and Rowena, also dressed as Elle, stepped in. We all stared at each other, bewildered, and then Hunter waved us over.

Introductions were made, and we began chatting like old friends, a little gigglier than was polite. But we didn’t care even as the other late-night patrons shot us annoyed looks. I couldn’t help but marvel at the serendipity of it all. How three lonely, drenched souls could find such an instant connection.

Now, my gaze drifts to the framed photo of the three of us on my desk. It was taken on graduation day, our faces glowing with pride and possibility. So much has changed since then, but our friendship remains a constant comfort.

I can’t help but chuckle as specific details from that first chance meeting flood back. How Hunter dramatically recounted fleeing a house party after a fog machine fiasco, complete with wild hand gestures that nearly knocked over her chocolate milkshake.

“I panicked!” she exclaimed. “One minute I’m shimmying to ‘Monster Mash,’ the next I’m stumbling into that damn machine. Smoke everywhere! People coughing and running for the exits. I wanted to die of embarrassment right there.”

Rowena and I howled with laughter, imagining the chaotic scene. “Well, I literally was about to die,” Rowena chimed in, gingerly touching her swollen lips. “Note to self: always ask about zombie makeup ingredients before French kissing them. Stupid allergies.”

“At least your guy didn’t ditch you to make out with a sexy vampire,” I added, rolling my eyes.

“Yeah.” Rowena sighed. “But I don’t think I’m getting a second date after the bloating face and blistering lips reaction.”

We all burst out laughing, the disappointments of the night fading away. There, in that cozy vinyl booth, something just clicked.

“Thanks to Legally Blonde ,” Hunter declared, fluffing her damp pink jacket. “It led me to you two. Screw those dumb boys and lame parties. This, right here? Infinitely better.”

Rowena raised her mug. “Hear, hear! To new friends and crappy exes!”

“And killer costumes!” I added with a grin.

We clinked mugs, dissolving into another fit of laughter. I remember thinking that whatever hardships the future held, I could handle them with these two by my side.

Smiling, I stand up and pick up the graduation photo, tracing our younger, beaming faces. Marveling at how our bond has only improved over the years. Gosh, I wish they could be here now, too, to help me face Tristan.

But, unfortunately, this time I have to do deal with the Prince of Darkness alone. I spend a moment centering myself before heading downstairs, determined to make it through this meal without falling deeper under Tristan Montgomery’s thrall.

I take a seat at the head of the table, and my heart sinks as Tristan slides into the chair on my right, shooting me a devilish grin, while Dad takes the spot on my left.

As Mom serves up heaping plates of meatloaf and vegetables, I focus all my energy on not brushing against Tristan’s leg under the table. But it’s impossible. The electric current that zings through me every time we touch is undeniable.

Tristan finds my eyes, his blue gaze smoldering. I quickly look away, stabbing a carrot with more force than necessary. I feel him watching me, his stare burning into the side of my face.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance down to see a new message from the Prince of Darkness. Before I can hide the notification, Tristan’s eyes flicker to the contact name on the screen then snap back to me. My cheeks flame, I want to disappear into a hole.

But before I do, I need to at least read what he wrote.

The Prince of Darkness

You look preoccupied tonight, Thompson

Another text arrives on the tail of the first one.

The Prince of Darkness

I hope I’m not the one making you blush

I nearly choke on the carrot, earning a concerned look from Mom. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Fine,” I croak, avoiding Tristan’s knowing smirk. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

The rest of the meal is an exquisite torture, trying to act normal while Tristan’s presence consumes me. By the time we’re clearing the dishes, my nerves are frayed to breaking point.

I escape to the living room, hoping a mindless Christmas movie will provide some distraction. But as the family settles in, Tristan claims the spot next to me on the couch, his thigh pressing against mine.

I sit ramrod straight, hardly daring to breathe. The movie plays, but I don’t absorb a single scene, too hyperaware of Tristan’s proximity. He finds the most creative ways to plague me with stolen touches. First, it’s the brush of his hand against my side as he stores his phone in a pocket. Then it’s the way his hand “accidentally” grazes mine in the popcorn bowl, lingering just a fraction too long to be unintentional. After that, it’s the slow drag of his foot, inching closer to my own until our ankles are entwined. Each contact sends a jolt through my system, and I silently curse him for his subtle mastery of this silent game we’re playing.

When the credits roll, I mumble a quick goodnight and flee upstairs, my mind spinning. I claim first use of the shared bathroom and then entrench myself in my room. Not that being here has kept me safe before. Should I lock the door? For whatever reason, I don’t.

I pace the floor, waiting, wondering. Will he show up unannounced again? Kiss me? Half an hour ticks by, and there’s no sign of Tristan. I change into my PJs and slump onto my bed, oddly disappointed. Maybe it was all just a game to him after all.

I’m staring murder at the ceiling when I hear a soft knock. I freeze, suddenly on high alert. My first instinct is to look at the door, but as a second knock sounds, I can pinpoint the noise coming from behind my head. From the wall I share with Tristan’s room. I stare at it, indecision tightening my muscles.

What do I do? Without thinking of the consequences, I knock back, two quick raps. Did I just sign my soul away to the devil with a knock on a wall? I don’t know what I expect in response. For my door to burst open and for Tristan to charge inside and ravish me or for nothing at all.

Instead, my phone lights up with an incoming text.

Prince Charming

Why, Thompson, lying in bed awake at night thinking about me?