London's Bad Boy.

Chapter 1.

London's Bad Boy: Chapter One: Starbucks.

"Honey, please stop messing around and bring the boxes up to your room," my mother spoke with annoyance clearly in her tone.

I sighed, picking up the nearest box marked 'Nicole Andersini' and bringing it into the house. Walking through the large glass doors, I passed the long hallway that separated the living room from the dining room and headed up the stairs.

I paused at the top of the stairs, trying to remember which side my new room was on.

"It's the last one on the right," my brother laughed.

"Right," I nodded. I stepped forward, pushing the door open with my foot.

There were two large doors on the left side of the wall that I assumed belonged to the closet. A large window rested on the wall across from where I was standing, over looking the city.

My furniture had been delivered before we had arrived, which I was personally grateful for because of my lack of upper body strength. My bed was pushed against the wall I was standing across from, allowing my to sleep right next to the city lights like I did back home. The white bed side table was on the bed's right, my desk pushed against the corner of the opposite wall. My dresser was across the room, the large mirror already attached above it. There was a white door on the left which lead into the bathroom.

I may be completely un-amused about moving to this gloomy city, but I was beyond thrilled to finally have my own bathroom. I no longer had to share with my smelly brother, which I was extremely grateful for.

I placed the brown box down onto the wooden floor before standing straight again and placing my hands on my hips.

My brother and I have been pissed at my mother ever since we received the marvelous news.

See, my mother was a fashion designer and usually I adored her career. I always received the hottest new clothes for my birthday and I was always getting my mother's old hand-me-downs, what's not to love?

Lately, I have grown a strong hatred for it though. The company had apparently split in half, half moving to London and half staying in my beautiful city.

Guess which half my mother immediately jumped onto?

The rain continued to fall onto the dreary roads of London and I flopped down on my bed in regret. I mean, it wasn't like there was much I could've done. I was a minor, old seventeen, so by law I had to jump on that plane.

My entire summer had been ruined. Instead of soaking up some sun or shopping with my girls, I was stuck at home to pack everything I owned.

To make matters even worse, my senior year starts in three days.

After growing up 17 years in New York City with my friends and family, it was all thrown away to spend my senior year in a foreign country.

I rolled onto my side, grabbing my phone out of my pocket in order to check the time. My lock screen was covered with my brother's face, which he must have been taken after I fell asleep on the plane.