Emery Montgomery is no stranger to the spotlight, after all when you're the heir to the English throne, privacy isn't something you're used to. So when she's sent to New York City to attend university and in attempt to better her family's public ima...
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•Emery's POV•
Who in their right mind ever thought a shirt covered in sequins would be comfortable,
Because someone should have warned me, I truly don't think I've ever been happier to change into my PJs.
It's the first thing I did as soon as I got home an hour ago, now I'm back in my favourite spot...the couch reading my book.
With a pipping hot cup of tea sitting beside me, a candle lit and my skincare done. No one can bother me now.
While I was eating dinner I called Haley and had her schedule more charity work with kids and informed her of the Disney World trip planned, she's going to send the paperwork over by week's end.
Just thinking about those kids and their families, especially the stress they're going through with everything that comes with having a child in the hospital, it's enough to make me curl into a ball and cry.
"Shit," Someone hisses following the sound of things hitting the floor.
I guess Greyson's back.
Taking a sip of my tea before setting it gently on the coasters spread across the coffee table, I stand walking to the door.
I hope it wasn't anything of mine that got broken.
Greyson's large body stands stationary in the hallway, he's just staring down at the pile of papers scattered across the floor.
"What's up?" I ask amused.
"Nothing," he grumbles bending down to organize the mess.
A large hand reaches down the grab the paper sitting by his foot, unconsciously my eyes rake over the muscles that flex in his arm, tracing the tattoos that scatter his arm down to his hand.
"Your hand?" A calculated path of blood was slowly dripping down his middle finger.
"What happened?" I ask more concerned.
"Nothing," he says looking down at his hand.
"It's bleeding," I say more to myself.
"Thanks, Captain Obvious," He responded.
"You need to clean it," I say, the bruise is already starting to form.
"It's fine," he says brushing it away.
"I wasn't asking," I state.
"Seriously, Emery-," he starts.
"Follow me," I say turning and walking to my room. I hear him groan then his footsteps follow me.
In my bathroom, in the cabinet under my sink, I have a small first aid kit. I took a class a few years ago so I slightly remember what to do, but that's better than nothing right?
