Chapter Eleven
January 2011
Dylan smiled when he saw Presley’s name flash across the screen of his phone. “Hey, you,” he said. The smile slipped from his face when he realized she was crying. “Presley, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Dylan, he knows everything,” Presley sobbed, her voice breaking.
“Who knows? What are you talking about?”
“My father. He was so angry. He doesn’t care about me at all,” she rambled, her words running together.
Dylan swallowed around the lump in his throat and pulled in a deep breath. He needed to stay calm if he expected to settle Presley down. “Baby, you’re not making any sense. You’ve got to calm down. Tell me what happened.”
“He knows everything,” she repeated. “He knows about Thanksgiving, and he knows about New Year’s Eve. He gave me boarding school brochures. He said it was the only thing I had any choice over.”
Dylan’s brows dented as he tried to piece Presley’s words together. “How?” he whispered.
“Check your email. I took screenshots before the pictures were taken down.”
Dylan grabbed the remote and muted the television as he kicked his way across his bedroom to his desk. Knocking the clothes draped across the back of his chair to a floor already littered with clothes, he brought the screen to life. As he opened the message from Presley, Dylan’s stomach dropped when he saw the picture. “‘Love when the rich kids go slummin. Free booze, drugs, and high-class ass,’” Dylan muttered, reading the caption. The picture was of Presley and him on New Year’s Eve. They were kissing, and Presley had a joint in her hand. They’d gone to a party in Brooklyn. It had been busted by the cops, and they’d barely gotten away without being arrested. He’d thought they’d been in the clear. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“There were more than a dozen of them. I don’t even want to imagine how much money he spent to get them off the internet.”
“Fuck, Presley,” Dylan exhaled. “I get these are bad, but sending you away? What the fuck? Especially since he’s already gotten them pulled.”
“That’s not all,” she whispered. “Look at the next one.”
Opening the second attachment, Dylan’s jaw flexed. Now he understood. “‘A rad time with Dylan and his fly-as-fuck chick,’” Dylan read with a groan. “My fucking cousins.” The picture on the screen was of Dylan and Presley at his grandmother’s in the Hamptons. His cousin must have taken it without him noticing.
“I need you to tell me exactly what your father said.” If he was going to fix this, he needed to know precisely what he was up against.
“He said I had lied to him time and time again. That I made a mockery out of him, and he couldn’t have this kind of negative publicity days before he announced his bid for governor. It’s all he cares about. I’m nothing more than a fucking liability. He said, ‘I warned you that if your relationship with Dylan interfered with my plans, I wouldn’t hesitate to send you away.’ He already had the boarding school brochures. It’s like he was just waiting for me to mess up so he could get me out of the way. He blames you. He’s such a fucking asshole.”
Dylan closed his eyes and tried to calm down enough to unclench his jaw. What they’d done was wrong, but shipping Presley off to boarding school was never going to happen. Right now, though, he just needed to take care of Presley. “I’ll never let you down, Elvis,” he promised. “I will romance the shit out of you until there’s no romance left. I’ll give you all the butterflies in the world. There’s nothing I won’t do for you. Trust me.”
After a moment, she let out a soft sigh. “I trust you.”
“Get some rest, everything will be better in the morning.”
After hanging up the phone, Dylan scrubbed his hands over his face and looked at the clock. His grandmother should still be awake. He hated to drag her into a mess he’d created, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed her help.
Jogging up the stairs to where his grandmother sat, Dylan stepped in front of her and pulled in a deep breath. “Grandmother, I need your help.”
The next morning, Dylan stood in front of the school waiting for Presley. When her car pulled up to the drop-off, she jumped out of the back before it had even come to a complete stop. “What did you do?” she asked, breathless.
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Good morning to you too.”
Presley poked her finger into his dimple and pursed her lips. “Spill, Dylan.”
“Fine,” he huffed, still smiling. Lacing their fingers together, he tugged her hand, pulling her toward the school. When she fell into step beside him, he started speaking. “I told Grandmother what happened and asked for her help. I know that’s the epitome of a spoiled rich kid, but the alternative just wasn’t an option. She wasn’t happy—actually, I think she called your father a rotten bastard, but she’d do anything for me, and by extension, you as well.”
“What did she do?”
Dylan shrugged. “She called him last night and told him that she would make a sizeable donation to his campaign, as well as give her support publicly, but only if he agreed to drop the nonsense of sending you away and allow you and me to continue seeing one another. I don’t think it was the most pleasant conversation, but it was effective, nonetheless.”
Presley slowed to a stop and turned to face Dylan. “She paid for us to be able to stay together?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief. “That seems so messed up.”
“What’s messed up is your father threatening to send you away because of his ridiculous campaign, then turning around and accepting a bribe for said campaign in order for you to stay.”
Tears filled Presley’s eyes, and her face reddened. “God, my father’s an asshole.”
Dylan nodded. “He is. But we just have to get through the rest of this year, then he’ll no longer have a say about anything. If I could, I’d move you in with me now, but as cool as my family is, they do have their limits. Shacking up isn’t something they’re too keen on. Once we graduate and I get my trust, it won’t matter what he says. I’ll take care of you.”
Presley swiped under her eye and shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never ask you to take care of me. I could get a job or something.”
Dylan laughed and lifted his hands, cupping her face. “You never would have to ask me to take care of you. Don’t you get it? I want to. I want to do it for the rest of our lives. I know we’re young. We’re going to fight and scream and say hurtful things to each other. But, Presley, I’m not being naïve when I say you’re the only girl for me. I feel you in every part of me. You’re all I’ll ever want. I love you.”
Presley nodded and sighed. “Please don’t ever stop romancing the shit out of me. I really fucking love it. I love the butterflies you give me.”
“Speaking of butterflies,” Dylan said, reaching into his pocket. “I got you something. It was supposed to be for Valentine’s Day, but after the last twenty-four hours, I thought you could use something to cheer you up.
“You cheer me up,” Presley argued with a smile.
“Just open it,” he whispered, placing the small blue box in her hand.
“What have you done?” she asked, pulling off the lid. A gasp left her lips as her fingers trailed over the necklace inside. “Dylan…”
He pulled it from the box, the red and black stones fitted inside the butterfly charm glinting in the early morning sun. “Turn around,” he murmured. Clasping the chain around her neck, he moved in front of her and smiled. “It looks perfect.”
Presley nodded, her eyes glassy. “You really do make everything flutter.”
Dylan smirked, his expression causing Presley to laugh. “Of course I do. Now, move your ass, Elvis. The last thing we need is a call from the school that you were late.”
Presley looked at her watch and gasped. “Shit. I’ll see you later!” After a final kiss, he watched as she sprinted into the school just as the bell rang. Walking into class, he promised himself they wouldn’t fuck up again. He had too much to lose.