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...
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"Do you mind?" I slapped Clark's hand away from me once again, shooting him a look of irritation. "If you're so hungry, get your own plate."
Clark's eyes twinkled mischievously, "But it's better stealing from you." He shrugged. "Plus, you took the last mini quiche."
"Doesn't constitute you stealing from me." I huffed, putting my plate in my left hand, farther away from the stealing bastard.
It was Christmas Eve and we were in one of the many corners of the Ellington Manor's formal living room, turned away from the others. We had mingled for a little as soon as we entered, but soon the hors d'oeuvres table distracted us and caused us to hide away. But Clark and his sticky hands kept stealing from me, even though he had his own plate clutched in his hands.
But as always, we had been fashionably late due to Clark and I both taking too long on ourselves. Clark had to fix his hair properly (as always) and I had lost my earrings and was scrambling around for a good ten minutes while trying to straighten my hair. But soon we were ready and dressed to the nines, me with a forest green satin dress and Clark with a maroon jacket and black button up.
We had then left and made the hours drive to the outskirts where the Manor was located, spending most of the time debating on how to properly eat a cupcake.
It's obviously not sandwiching it. Clark thought otherwise.
"It's not stealing because it's my house." Clark smirked.
"That doesn't even make sense! God, I hate you." I glowered at him.
"That's not what you were saying last ni-"
"Ahem," a voice cleared, thankfully cutting Clark off. The prim and proper voice of Anastasia Ellington scared the wits out of me, causing me to immediately straighten my posture and paste a pleasant smile onto my face.
"Hello, Mother." Clark beat me to the punch, greeting his mother with a polite tone. His earlier playful glint had hardened into a guarded stare, and like mine, his posture was as straight as a pole. Rigid, tense.
"Clark dear, where were you yesterday? I tried looking for you but Finley said you had left early. You know what I've told you about leaving events early, it's not good for our image as a family."
"The wedding was wrapping up, and all the other teenagers had left. Even Dean left." Clark attempted to argue back, although his voice remained level.
"Don't worry, Dean got a good talking to already. Now have you gotten to meet your father yet?" Mrs. Ellington frowned slightly, turning her head to scan the room, a frown pulling at her face.
