PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

22. Rory Preston

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                "AND YOU KNOW WHAT, RORY? THAT WASN'T EVEN the worst of it."

                Slowly, slowly, Rory lifted her eyes up. To Paris's bright, cinnamon eyes. In the dimness of falling night, they gleamed with the shine of her tears.

                "What happened next?" Rory whispered.

                "When we broke up, Declan tried to touch me, too."

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                 DECLAN WAS LEANING AGAINST THE BAR.

                 His curly auburn hair was glossy under the colourful lights of the club. His eyes were narrowed, his long lashes fluttering.

                He raised two fingers. "A margarita please."

                When Rory slid into the stool next to him, she was already grinning.

                "I'm excited for cliff diving tomorrow," she said. 

                He flashed her a charming grin. Reaching out to ruffle her hair. "Of course. I have to show my sister my tricks. You have to impress people somehow."

                "What, my looks aren't enough?" Rory teased.

                "Well, you manage."

                "You know, it's funny. I'm told we have some resemblance."

                "Wouldn't dream of it," Declan had said.

                After he had ordered a margarita for her, Rory laugh faded. That wasn't what she had come here to talk about tonight. She was eighteen. Her and Paris had just broken up. The girl she had loved had told her, not two weeks ago, that her brother was a rapist.

               "Declan?"

                Her brother turned, and he looked so much like the face she saw in the mirror that she froze.

                "Rory? What is it?"

                "I . . . I wanted to talk to you about my breakup."

                "Right. London's sister," Declan said, and he downed his drink in one swallow. "What about her?"

                "We broke up because . . . she told me something."

                "Yeah? You were too good for her anyway. She was a boring bitch—did you hear she wants to go to med school? Trust me, Rory. You're better off. You don't want a doctor as a wife."

                Rory's grip tightened on the glass.

                "Don't talk about Paris," Rory said coolly.

                But Declan only let out a rich, flowing laugh. "Oh, Rory, come on. You don't want to spend the rest of your life with a girl who's going to be—what was it? A pediatrician." 

                The glass in Rory's hand broke.

                "She told me you raped London," Rory said.

                "You're bleeding," Declan told her.

                "Answer the fucking question, Declan." She was close to tears and she didn't know why. Maybe she was a little drunk.