1. Brit
I used to love fairy tales. When I was a little kid, my mom would read to me before bed every night. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty- I must have heard them a hundred times over, but still, I couldn’t get enough. The brave heroines, the beautiful dresses, the big gala balls. And of course, the handsome prince. No matter what evil spell the witch cast, or how fierce the dragon was, he would always show up in time to win the princess’s heart and restore good to the world.
I don’t know when I stopped believing in happily ever after. Maybe it was when my dad walked out on us, back when I was just four years old. Maybe it was the first time I found my mom high: slumped on the bathroom floor with a glassy smile on her face and an empty vial of Oxy in her outstretched palm. Or maybe it was when she walked out for good, left me and my brothers alone like we didn’t mean a thing.
Either way, by the summer I turned sixteen, I knew: fairy tales weren’t real. There was no godmother coming to wave her magic wand over my crappy life, and Prince Charming would only leave in the end, leaving me heartbroken and alone. So I swore, I wouldn’t fall for his bullshit. I would never let myself believe in love.
I wouldn’t make my mom’s mistakes.
I took what I wanted from guys, and didn’t care about the whispers that followed me around town. I didn’t give a damn if they thought I was some trailer trash slut, my heart was safe behind my barricades, walls built high enough to keep anyone out.
Until Hunter Covington smiled at me one bright July afternoon, and my defenses came crashing to the ground.
I couldn’t help it. He was gorgeous, charming, rich. The golden boy of Beachwood Bay--and the last guy who would ever look twice at a messed up girl like me. But my heart didn’t care.
I wanted him more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Just a taste of his perfection, a glimpse of what it felt like in the safety of his embrace. Just one night to believe in the dream I knew I could never have.
One night. Just one night, that was all I wanted.
But what would happen when morning came?
2. Hunter
It’s the last night of summer, and I’m stuck in a suit and tie, about to lose my goddamn mind in the middle of my parents’ stupid dinner party.
“Summer in Beachwood has been lovely as always,” my mother coos to her collection of friends--an identical group of Botox and beaming insincerity. “But I can’t wait to get back to civilization in the city. And of course, Hunter will be joining his brother at Yale. We’re so proud. He can’t wait, can you, darling?”
I murmur a reply. What I can’t wait to do is tear off this damn tie and get the hell out of here, but dad made it clear: attendance was mandatory.
“Here’s your drink, bro.” My brother Jace hands me a tumbler of clear liquid. “Club soda, right?” He winks, and when I take a sip, I taste a healthy dash of vodka in the mix.
God, I love my brother.
“Have you declared your major yet?” One of the blondes asks Jace.
Before he can reply, my father interrupts. “Business, with a minor in Econ.” He slaps Jace on the back. “Just what he needs to join his old man at the firm. He’s been working with me this summer, learning the ropes.”
“More like working on my golf swing.” Jace quips.
“Now now,” my dad chortles, “plenty of important deals have been sealed on that green. It’s all part of your responsibility as a Covington.”
“As long as my responsibilities include an after-game drink at the clubhouse, I’m set.”
The room laughs along with dad and Jace. “Like father like son,” one of the guests remarks, and I down the rest of my drink in a single swallow.
I hate these parties. Jace can turn on the charm and play along, but every word of small talk just sticks in my throat. What’s the point? I want to yell. Especially tonight, with college looming over me like a prison sentence. I’ve managed to ignore it all summer, but now, I can’t avoid it. Soon, I’ll be one step further along the plan my parents have made for me, walking in footprints that were laid out in stone the day I was born.
“What about you, Hunter?” Someone turns to me. “Have you been working this summer?”
“Yup,” I nod, just as my father answers,
“No.” I turn. “Messing around on that ranch isn’t work,” he corrects me.
“Tell that to the guys who are up at five every morning to feed the horses,” I reply, feeling a familiar tension blaze in my chest.
My dad chortles again, like I’ve made a joke. “I’ll never understand the appeal of that ranch,” he says, talking about my Grandpa’s pride and joy like it’s some broken down shack and not one of the best training ranches in the county. “Camille and I tell him to sell, that land’s got to be worth a fortune, but pops won’t hear about it.”
I don’t say a word. The world may revolve around balance sheets and shiny new toys to people like my dad, but Grandpa knows there are some things more important than money. Like passion, freedom. Making your own rules. He’s been teaching me to train the horses every summer here for years, and it’s my secret dream to take over from him one day. But if I’m going to stand a chance of running my own ranch, I need to make it through college, at least—and another few years of gritting my teeth through nights like this one.
Dad starts up talking about business gossip, so I look around for some distraction. My mom comes back in from the kitchen looking distressed. “Everything OK?” I ask.