After flying overseas to enroll in a prestigious boarding school, Blake Graham assumes that she can finally catch a break.
Instead, she encounters the boy who she fought with almost every day as a child.
After moving back to England, then over to...
The song above is literally all I listened to while writing this chapter
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The ballroom with almost ethereal. A world of white marble, gold accents, and soft music along with light chattering. The popping of champagne could be heard from the kitchen, and minutes after the loud pop, a tray of glasses laden with the golden liquid would appear. It felt so odd, to be back in my world.
My world was filled with money, pressure, and diamonds. Talk of business was almost constant, and other's happiness was never important. At Cambridge everything was different. Lighter. It was clearer, like the smog free air.
And now I had to clear the metaphorical air. So after getting a supportive head nod from Clark, I followed after Parker.
Parker had me follow him towards the back corner of the ballroom, where no one could see us. I could clearly see what was going on in the ballroom, but at our angle no one could see us. And that was good. We didn't need any rumors or tabloids made up.
We stood silently next to the table where the party favors stood. Light pink bags, probably filled with expensive gifts, and covered with snowy white tissue. Instead of looking at Parker, I stared at the gift bags. I honestly had no idea how to react to the situation before me.
After four months of successfully avoiding him (running away helped), Parker Reed Ambrose stood right in front of me. From the tips of his perfectly styled dark blonde hair to the ends of his dark designer dress shoes, he was here.
And finally I looked up at him. The boy I had been infatuated with since I was twelve, in love with since fifteen, and in conflict with since July.
He looked the same. His hair maybe a bit shorter, but he was still my Parker. Or what used to be my Parker. His jawline was still as sharp as ever, he still was shockingly tall, and he still was lean. The only difference with this Parker instead of the one I knew was his usual grin was nowhere in sight.
Parker was known to joke around a lot. He always had been nice to others and enjoyed cracking jokes to his friends. He was more or less the opposite of what I used to be (we'll delve into this later). This Parker looked like he hadn't smiled in a very long time.
"So," I cleared my throat slightly, "You want to talk?"
"Yeah, talk." Parker looked nervous. "How are you?"
What the fuck? "How am I? Parker, I'm great. But what about you? I thought you'd yell, or do something else, not ask about me! I left you! You should be so fucking pissed at me, you should hate me!"
"I can't ever hate you Blake." Was all he simply said. He was talking softly, which was so unlike him. He was Parker Ambrose, the oil heir. He was confident and smiley, not soft spoken and forgiving.
"Just ask the question Park," I let the words tumble out of my mouth before I had even realized it. When we were dating only I was allowed to call him Park, and involuntarily I let the nickname slip out.
