Naughty Princess

8

Addison wasn't sure she could speak without crying. Never had she been so embarrassed and hurt by Grace.

The waitress had left, placing the three cups of coffee on the tabletop before fleeing, not throwing a glance back. Grace had stood for a second, as if thinking on whether or not she should make a run for it.

Now, they were here. All sitting around a too small, slightly too high table with an ornate cup in their hands. Jace was drinking his, but it didn't seem like he's tasting it. She barely tastes her own, but a small, detached part of her says though it's good, it's still overpriced.

Grace speaks first.

"Please, Jace, I just wanted to get us all here first. To talk." He looks at her, turns his unfeeling gaze to Addison; they look at each other for a minute. Something changes in his face, a muscle twitches, he sighs a little before looking away to the flowers.

Addison doesn't know what to think, but she knows for sure she doesn't want to be some housekeeper, washing some man's clothes and cooking dinner. Maybe she had no choice, but surely this isn't all she has left.

"This isn't what we talked about." It's muttered but sure. The words are even; he says it effortlessly. Addison can't even open her mouth to speak, to ask what the hell they're talking about. She doesn't even feel like a part of the discussion, just a bystander.

"My phone died before I could explain. Please, Jace. My mom won't let her stay; she has nowhere to go." Grace is leaning with her palms on the edge of the table, her voice low, and her eyes bright and glancing back and forth. It doesn't seem that she is a part of the discussion at all, at this point.

Jace laughs a little under his breath, head tilted back, and arms crossed. She can't help but watch him, doesn't feel like it matters because she's invisible anyway.

He has a small smattering of freckles over his nose, and his green eyes look almost brown in the shade. His chocolate brown hair is still neat and combed back, slick with a small amount of gel. He doesn't look like the kid she met 4 years ago, but she can still see him inside the man across from her.

There's a small scar above his eyebrow; she remembers with a want of a smile of a shine of metal that used to be there, a rebellious eyebrow piercing.

There is no boyish joy on his face; he has wrinkles near his eyes, and lips are a little chapped. But there is something to be said about his physique. Jace had been tall when she last saw him, but now he was taller and more grown into his skin. Muscles flexed from where he folded his arms over his chest, the black suit rippling.

They're talking now, but not about Grace. About Jace's father, about the end of the year. She isn't listening anymore because she doesn't care.

In fact, when she finishes her coffee, she's going to catch a taxi home. Maybe.

"I'll see, but I'll need to talk to you again. The next time I see Grace, though, if she wants to, it will be alone." The world rushes back in, muffled chatter from the cafe indoors, the smell of wet grass and flowers and coffee.

Addison looks up from admiring Jace's suit, something more expansive than she owned, to meet his gaze. Her face heated at being caught; he surely wouldn't notice.

There was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips; Jace Slate missed nothing.