Gilt_ By Invitation Only - Geneva Lee Page 0,49

I went to boarding school the next fall. Mom was convinced that military school was the right way to go.”

“I can’t see you at military school,” I admit. “It actually seems more suited to Monroe.”

“I don’t think military school could handle Monroe” he says dryly. “But I tried to go back there once.” His voice fades into the past, and even though we’re pressed closely together, I can feel the distance of memory between us. “The whole town had been bought out. The boardwalk, the ferris wheel, the games. They were all gone.”

“What happened to them?”

“Someone came in, developed everything into condos.” He barks a hollow laugh. “I wasn’t surprised when I found the project in my dad’s portfolio.”

Pulling back, I stare at him. “Are you telling me your father took your family on a vacation, then bought the place out, and turned it into senior living?”

“It’s also very popular amongst young professionals,” he says. “The city isn’t even called Heaven any more.”

“Did they rename is Purgatory?” I nuzzle into his arms, trying to think of the right thing to say. I’d thought my family was dysfunctional. But the Wests made my parents look like parents of the year. “If I had enough money. I’d buy a little town on the coast and name it Heaven.”

“Could we build a boardwalk?” he asks.

“Oh, yes. Heaven has to have a boardwalk,” I promise him.

“I like the picture you’re painting of the afterlife.”

“It’s not an afterlife,” I say. “It’s just a dream.”

Jameson presses his lips to my forehead, lingering there. It’s a gesture filled with warmth and promises of its own. I want to stay here with him where everything is quiet and simple, and bad memories are only stories from the past. He buries his face in my hair and breathes in. Then, he speaks so softly that I barely catch it. “I hope your dreams come true, Duchess.”

That night, I stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. I replay every touch, every brush of his hand over mine, the few kisses we stole. Maybe tomorrow I can hang up some pictures of boy bands. I don’t know what Jameson West is doing to me, but I know I don’t want him to stop. I roll over and grab my pillow tightly, clamping my eyes closed, but nothing works. I’m still lying there when a soft tap catches my attention, followed by another. It takes a second to realize it’s a rhythm. I go to my window and peek through the blinds. Two eyes stare back at me and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Smooth,” I muttered to myself as I tug on the cord so that I can unlock the window. “Trying to scare me to death?” I hiss at Jameson through the screen.

“I thought of something I wanted to ask you,” he says.

“You could have tried using the phone.” I crossed my arms and wait for his question.

“Why would I do that when your first floor window is so convenient? Come on, let me in, Duchess.” He tosses me a crooked smile.

I glance over my shoulder at my closed bedroom door. “Have you lost your mind? If my dad comes in here and finds you, he’ll kill you and he’ll claim self-defense, and he’ll get off.”

“I’m not staying.” He holds up two fingers. “Scout’s promise.”

“I doubt you were ever a Boy Scout.” I pinch the metal tabs on the screen, wiggling it out of place, and set it against the wall.

Jameson ducks inside my window. Straightening up, he brushes off the dust from the window sill and looks around. “Not what I imagined,” he admits.

“What did you imagine?”

“Something regal. Four poster bed. Hand maidens.”

“We’re fresh out of hand maidens,” I say flatly. “I’m lucky if I have clean sheets on the bed.”

The bed. The innocent thought has my eyes darting over to the rumpled sheets and comforter. Jameson’s gaze follows mine in that direction. “Were you asleep?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep. My head’s too full.” Of you. I keep that part to myself.

He holds out his hands. “Come here.”

Now would be a very good time to share my parents’ no boys in the bedrooms rule, but the words stick on my tongue. It's easier to respect parental edicts when parents are around to enforce them. My dad might be home, but he's not really present. All I really have is my own instinct, and that's split decidedly down the middle on what I should do. The smart move is to