Charlie is fast asleep, cheek resting on my chest, her breathing low, and her lips twitch up slightly before she murmurs something incoherent. I run my thumb over her cheek and sigh. So damn beautiful.

I want to join her in her dreams, but as hard as I try to sleep, I can’t. My mind is racing, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed in my chest.

Who the hell is this girl? And what has she done to me?

I didn’t doubt the sex would be good. Knew the second I saw her at the gala that she was fire. More than that, she’s sunlight and goodness and everything that I didn’t know I needed, but now never want to live without.

And then I’d kissed her.

Hell, I knew in that second she would undo me.

Because Princeton Charming doesn’t kiss.

Or date.

And I liked my life.

Bullshit, Beckett, you’ve been walking around numb since Ethan died, a voice in my head says.

But with Charlie, I feel again. And it’s some scary shit. Allowing another person control of your heart.

My phone buzzes on the dresser, making Charlie stir.

I frown and glance at the clock. It’s late. But I always try and answer my calls, just in case it’s Ava needing something.

The number displayed on the screen isn’t one I recognize, but I do know the area code - France. Shit, that’s where my parents are, on some business meeting with the current minister of Culture. I’m sure my mother is eating that shit up.

“Hi Mom,” I say, answering the call as I walk out of the bedroom and shutting the door behind me.

She doesn’t waste any time chewing into me. “Why didn’t you call me when Ava was in the hospital?”

“Because she was fine,” I sigh, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and uncapping it.

“She had alcohol poisoning. How could you let that happen?”

“Ava’s nineteen. It’s not like I can follow her around campus monitoring her every move.”

“Do you have any idea how bad it’ll look on your father if the press found out?”

That’s what she’s really worried about, not that her underage daughter drank to the point where she was puking her guts out.

“And you,” my mom continues, sounding like she’s about to cry, which is something else she’s mastered over the years. The art of manipulation is another Beckett trait. “What are you thinking, hanging around that...that waitress?”

I grind my back teeth. “I’m not sure what Ava told you—”

“Ava didn’t tell me. Winslow called, said you were making a fool of yourself over this girl. Flaunting her in public.”

I should have known Winslow would call her.

“Mom, it’s late. Can we do this in the morning?”

“You’re just like your father was. Needing to sow your wild oats—”

“Mom.” I move into the living room and sit down on the couch. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“I understand the need. But you’re twenty-three, Spencer, it’s time you start thinking about settling down. Winslow—”

“Winslow and I are over. We have been for years.”

“She loves you.”

No, she was really in love with Ethan. But I don’t tell my mom that. Or that I found the two of them together a few months before he died. She’d always wanted him. I knew it. Saw it. And honestly, other than a bruised ego, I hadn’t cared. That she’s suddenly taken a new interest in me sends up a dozen red flags.

Sure, I’ll always care about her, as a friend, but that’s it.

“Winslow loves the idea of me, Mom. She’d be just as happy on the arm of any other senator’s son’s arm.”

My mother clucks her tongue. “One day you’ll be running for office, and you’ll need someone like Winslow beside you.”

Except I don’t want to run for office. I fucking hate politics. But I’m pretty sure my parents will disown me if I ever admit it to them. And honestly, I have no clue what else to do with my life.

“You’re a Beckett. You have a duty to make this world a better place. But you have to play by the rules. Haven’t I taught you that?”

“Yeah, Mom. I know your rules.”

She sighs. “You have so much potential, my sweet boy. I want you to be happy.”

The words sound good, almost like she cares. But I know the truth. It’s not my happiness she wants, it’s my obedience. To join the long list of Beckett politicians who made a difference.

And shit, I want to make a difference in this messed up world. Just not in the way my parents want me to. Fancy parties, rubbing elbows with assholes who only care about getting their bills passed for their own agenda. Putting on fake smiles, campaigning for issues I don’t believe in, in order to gain the popular vote. It’s all bullshit.

Yeah, I know how to play the game, but I don’t want to anymore.

But guilt, responsibility and the constant need of my parents’ approval have always superseded my own wants. Not to mention that they still control my bank account.

“Your father and I will be home next week,” my mom is still going on, but I’ve drowned out most of what she’s said. “We’re having a small gathering on Saturday. I expect both you and Ava to be there.”

An icy numbness has crept into my chest, the way it always does whenever I get one of my mother’s calls. But it’s better than the sense of complete and bitter disappointment from my father. Thank God, he only calls when my mother feels like I’m not living up to the Beckett name.

So I pretend.

Always fucking pretending.

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter, wanting to end this call. Needing to get back to Charlie. Wrap my arms around the girl, and feel something more than the constant battering of expectations that surround me and my family.

Because that’s one thing the Becketts are good at - secrets, lies, manipulation, and expectations.

I used to think it was because of the political face my family has to present, but I’m starting to wonder if it isn’t something that’s ingrained into our DNA. The joke of it all is that we’re all playing the game, but no one’s rules are the same.

Win at any cost. Even if it means being miserable.

After I’ve hung up, I walk back to the bedroom and lean against the doorframe, watching Charlie sleep.

Sweet.

Innocent.

Perfect.

She was right when she said she didn’t belong in my world. She’s too damn good for it. Too damn good for me.

But I’m a selfish bastard, always wanting what I shouldn’t have. Taking without thinking about the consequence.

That’s how you survive in my world. Taking. Scheming. Conniving.

Winslow’s call to my mom was a warning. I know it. Just the start of what she’ll do to get what she thinks she wants - me.

Something stirs inside me. A primal need to protect Charlie. From Winslow, from my parents, even from me.

I text Winslow.

Me: I know you called my mom. Stay the fuck out of my business. Or you and I are done.

Only a few seconds pass before the ellipses start bouncing, then a message pops up.

Winnie: I’m trying to protect you. You can screw whoever you like, Spencer, but flaunting her in public...think about what people will say. You’re Spencer Beckett and she’s a nobody.

Me: Last warning, Win.

The ellipses bounce, then stop, and a few minutes go by before another text pops up.

Winnie: It’s not just you you’re hurting. Think about how this looks on me.

I don’t respond, even though my fingers are itching to text back. In a fucked up way, she’s right. It’s always been Winslow who I’ve called whenever I needed a date. Sure, we both usually ended up in someone else’s bed at the end of the night. But as far as society believes, we’re together, the perfect couple. Primed and polished for a life in politics.

Another goddamn lie. One that I need to set straight. But I know the second I do, the bloodhounds will be all over Charlie. The girl is tough, but she has no idea how merciless my world truly is.

I scrub a palm over my face then back through my hair. If I was a better man, I’d end things between us now.

“Spencer?” Charlie stirs in bed, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, crawling back into bed beside her, and pulling her into my arms.

She snuggles against me, her body fitting mine perfectly.

I never let girls sleep here. But if I had my way, I’d never let Charlie leave my bed. Because when she’s with me, everything seems right. I just pray to God that my need for her isn’t the thing that’ll destroy her.