Devil Incarnate (Boys of Preston Prep #4) - Angel Lawson Page 0,148

therapy, medication and any other treatment. He’s awesome, but in the end there’s still only so much he can do. Once he’s satisfied, his gaze darts up to the tiara. “Guess your mother won that fight.”

I touch the crown. “God, do I look like an idiot?”

“You look gorgeous.” He squeezes my hand, and we take a step forward as the line diminishes. “Thank you for appeasing her. This is very important to her.”

I sigh. “I know. I don’t want to fight with her. It’s just so hard to be what I’m not.”

“It’s okay to compromise as long as you’re true to yourself. You’re strong, honey. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.” He chuckles. “Including your mother.”

His statement makes me feel better, even though there are so many days when I don’t feel strong at all. The days when it’s like all I do is cave to my compulsions, but knowing my dad believes in me helps. It doesn’t hurt that when we walk out on the stage, I do feel a little bit like a princess in my amazing dress.

I’m met on the other side by Ozzy, where we pause for the photographer. I send him a raised eyebrow. “My, my, Oswald. So dapper.”

He folds my hand into the crook of his arm. “Not so shabby yourself, Haynes. That dress looks like some prime twirling material.”

“Right?” I twist my hips, giving it a wave. “It makes up for the lame elbow-length gloves.”

He shares my grimace, adjusting his own gloves. “I’ve never been to one of these before, so you’ll have to tell me if I mess something up.”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Just look pretty and rich, that’s all they ever want.”

He nods. “Got it.”

Ozzy escorts me across the stage, to the middle where, this time, I walk down the center section, and pause as I’ve been instructed. I spot my father in the crowd and he smiles proudly. Everyone claps politely, like they’ve done for every other debutante, but as I do my spin, I can’t help but see heads tilted together and mouths moving in whispers. I want to chalk it up to paranoia, but I know better. I have a reputation—one that, to a certain degree, I’ve earned.

I do what I always do, smile bigger, push my tits out further and give them the best goddamn twirl I have in me.

Fuckers.

When the formalities are over, Ozzy and I are sitting at our table, sipping punch and picking at slices of cake. Well, I’m picking at mine. Ozzy shovels a forkful into his mouth and enthusiastically offers, “Damn, this is good!”

I chuckle, looking around to find Caroline and Vandy.

Vandy’s easy to spot. She’s out on the dance floor with Reyn, smiling up at him as he leads her in a waltz that’s far less clumsy than I’d think him capable of. Caroline’s standing near the grand staircase, hands folded in front of her as she watches the dancers. I know Emory and his dad are checking the Vanderbilt score on their phone, and she looks so alone standing there, watching the other couples. I look at Ozzy and am hit with a spark of selfless genius.

I nudge him with my elbow, jerking my chin at her. “Hey. Doesn’t Caroline look pretty tonight?”

“Definitely,” he says feelingly. “All of you do.”

“Yeah, but I mean…Caroline especially.” I give him a smile that lets him know he doesn’t need to be an equal opportunity flatterer. “What do you think of her?”

He actually puts down his fork to turn and look at her. “Caroline? She’s cool. Hilarious. Really good with software.”

Nodding, I squint at him. “But do you like her?”

He gives her a more considering look. “Well, sure. It’s just…” Just then, Caroline looks our way and sees him staring. She quickly jerks her gaze away and Ozzy’s head tilts. “I’m not sure she likes me.”

I roll my eyes. Boys. So clueless. “You should ask her to dance.”

His forehead creases. “I don’t think she’d like that. She always seems to avoid me.”

“Trust me,” I insist, pushing his plate of cake away. “If you asked her to dance right now, you’d make her night. Her month. Hell, possibly her year.”

He looks at me, eyebrows hiking up his forehead. “Seriously?” Swinging his gaze back to her, he still looks doubtful. “If I get rejected, you owe me a dance to soothe my shattered ego.”

“Sure thing!” I slap him on the shoulder, pushing him from his seat.

“I’m going, I’m going!”

I watch, glued to my seat as