Broken Princess Read online

  I peek up at the sky. Dark clouds are gathering above me. I'm not sure if I should be hoping for rain or for snow. Both make the ground wet. Both bring cold that will seep into my bones. I'd love me some sun, but right now, all I can hope for is that these clouds will pass, driven away by Edinburgh's strong sea winds.

  Someone drops coins into my bowl and I hurry to look up and smile, but they've already disappeared into the crowd. Good. I hate looking at the people who give me money. They make me feel naked, exposed, dirty. I much prefer for them to stay anonymous.

  I lean forward and check the bowl. Not coins. Stones. They actually threw tiny pebbles in there!

  My cheeks heat in indignation. As if it wasn't humiliating enough to sit out here in the cold, no, someone thinks it's funny to put rocks in my bowl. I take them out, revealing the three one pound coins already in there. Two of them are from yesterday. I always try and keep some money behind so it looks as if people have thrown money in my bowl. Somehow, that makes other people add to it. Some kind of weird psychology, I guess, but it also makes me feel better, even though I know that it's not new money.

  Three pounds. That's going to buy me a sandwich and a hot tea later on, unless I'm responsible and keep two coins for tomorrow. Then, I'll not even have enough for a coffee.

  I grimace and continue to look at the sea of legs rushing past me. They're all full of purpose, rushing towards work or to go sightseeing, who knows? But they all have a destination. I don't. All I can do is sit here and hope that someone will be kind enough to give me a few pennies.

  My stomach growls. Fuck. It's going to be a long day.

  2

  Two polished leather shoes stop in front of me. I look up – and straight at the crotch of the guy bending down to me. I look away, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. This is as close to a guy as I’ve come in years. My ex was the jealous type. Which is why I only have three good friends left, all the others let themselves be bullied away. Good riddance. And male friends were taboo – she knew I was bisexual, not just into women like herself, so she saw them as a threat. When I spoke with a guy at a party… not pretty.

  “Why are you here?” he asks, and I stare at him.

  “What do you think? This piece of pavement feels particularly nice, so I decided to sit here for a few hours.”

  He sits down next to me, hugging his long legs.

  “You’re right, this is quite comfortable.”

  I snort. This guy is crazy. If I could, I’d get up and walk away, but this spot has a roof and a steady stream of people. It’s too good to abandon because of a random weirdo.

  “What do you want?” I snarl at him, trying to look as unfriendly as possible. Please leave, I’ve got enough craziness of my own to deal with.

  “Nothing, just taking a break. Walking up the hill is exhausting.”

  I give him a doubtful look. He’s fit, I can tell even though he’s wearing a thick leather jacket. There’s no way this is guy out of breath from a little stroll up the hill. Edinburgh is full of hills, so if you live here, you get used to it.

  “Please, go away,” I try more politely this time.

  “Why? You haven’t answered my question yet.”

  “Ehm, what?”

  “I asked why you’re here, and sorry, but this really isn’t comfortable.” He shifts and his shoulder touches mine in the process. I shiver. Human touch has become a rarity in my life.

  “Are you like a street pastor?”

  He laughs. “Nah, I don’t do God.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t in the mood for a sermon about what a sinful woman I am, thank you very much. I’ve had a few of that kind of people try and talk to me over the past weeks. When they offer that I can sleep in their churches for a night, I go with them, endure their speeches, trying to get done with it as soon as possible. If they only want to talk about God without offering me a place to sleep, I tell them to fuck off. Works most of the time.

  “If you haven’t noticed, I’m homeless. So if you don’t want to throw something in my bowl, please move on. You’re distracting.”

  He chuckles. “I know, I can be very distracting.” His smile could make any lesser girl faint.

  I snort. “Sorry, wrong word. I meant annoying. Now piss off.”

  “You know you’re not very polite?”

  “Why should I be? You’re invading my privacy.”

  “If I throw something in your bowl, will you come and get a coffee with me?”

  Tempting, but that’s creepy. This guy is too friendly. And that usually means trouble. My trust in humanity has suffered a lot since my first night on the streets. Some people think that just because you’ve got breasts, you’re for sale. Or happy to be touched.

  “I told you to piss off.”

  “Come on, it’s freezing out here and I really don’t want to sit on the cold pavement anymore. I’m in the mood for an americano and a piece of cake. Doesn’t that tempt you?”

  “I don’t go with random men who I don’t know,” I reply, giving him an evil stare, which he apparently finds amusing.

  “Then we better get to know each other.” He holds out a gloved hand. “My name is Ben, pleased to meet you.”

  I don’t make any move to take his hand, but he keeps it there, outstretched.

  “Go away, Ben,” I sigh, but he stays in the same position, grinning like he’s the funniest person in the world. The most desperate, maybe. He twitches his fingers, wiggling them one by one.

  “Is it the glove that’s bothering you? I can take it off.”

  I sigh again. Why doesn’t he get the message?

  He takes off his glove and I cringe. His hand is covered in scars, big, fleshy ones. One disappears under the sleeve of his jumper, tempting me to follow it. A silent vulnerability has crept into his eyes, making me think twice about refusing again.

  I shake his hand. “I’m Em.”

  “M, like the letter?”

  “Em, like Emily.”

  “Nice to meet you, Em. Now, how about that coffee?”

  “I don’t drink coffee. I’m a tea person.”

  “Tea it is.” He gets up and offers me his now gloved hand. I’m about to refuse when I realise I need the loo. Using the toilet in a café beats the public ones by miles. I take his hand and he pulls me up. I sway a little; after sitting in the cold for so long, my feet are frozen. He reaches out to steady me, but I evade him and jump up and down a little, causing him to smile. I stop and glare at him, until he tries to hide his grin.

  “There’s this cute little coffee shop just around the corner, I go there a lot to work.” He points at his messenger bag, bulging with papers and a large laptop.

  “What do you do?” I ask, unable to stifle my curiosity.

  “This and that,” he replies mysteriously. “I can tell you about it in the café.”

  “You’re very persistent, you know that, right?”

  “Oh, my flatmates tell me every day.”

  Flatmates? He looks like he’s in his mid-thirties and like he could afford his own place. Who still has flatmates at this age?

  We start walking down the Royal Mile, trying to avoid the groups of tourists huddled together at street corners, listening to their shouting guides.

  After a moment of silence, I ask the question that’s been hovering on my tongue.

  “You have flatmates?”

  “Yes, two. Alistair inherited a house and invited us to stay for a summer. It’s been four years now, and still working well.”

  “Don’t you want to live on your own?” I loved having my own little flat before I moved in with Jess. Right now, I wish I had somewhere to stay. Even just a room, as long as it was my own, and not shared with crowds of other homeless folks.

  “It’s a large house, so we can stay out of each other’s way if we want, but at the same time, if I want company, I don’t need to go far to find it. And this way I don’t have to spend a lot of money on rent that I could spend on other things.
”

  “Like what?”

  He grins. “Right now, coffee.”

  He holds open the door of a small café that I almost didn’t notice. It’s in one of the narrow closes leading off the Royal Mile, one of the darker ones that I wouldn’t usually walk through at night. The café looks very inviting though. Candles flicker on the small iron wrought tables, comfy cushions cover the sofas and chairs dotted around the room. And the best thing: it’s warm. Roasting, actually.

  “May I take your coat?” Ben asks, and I indulge him and let him take it off my shoulders. Apparently, he’s got some kind of good Samaritan complex.

  He even pulls back my chair when I sit down. A real gentleman. And I still don’t know what he wants from me. That worries me more than I want to admit. I hate not knowing.

  He orders our drinks from an old lady standing behind a row of cakes and scones, and then sits down opposite me, staring straight into my eyes. I can’t help but stare back.

  “Have you ever stolen something?” he asks suddenly.

  “No,” I say automatically before even wondering why he’s asking me that question.

  “Truth. Interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting? Not everyone living on the streets is a criminal.”

  “Obviously.” He leans forwards, his elbows pressed on the white table cloth, his index fingers touching his chin. I feel like an animal in the zoo, being stared at curiously. Or, maybe more accurately, a gazelle being ogled by a lion.

  “What do you want, Ben?” I sigh, evading his intense brown eyes.

  “To get to know you.”

  “You know, this is really creepy. I think I should go.” I move to get up, but the old woman bringing our drinks is in the way.

  “Leaving already, dearie?” I look at her tray and see hot chocolate. And sit back down. If it had been tea, I might have been able to leave, but now there’s no chance in hell. Hot chocolate is heaven in a mug. With whipped cream on top.

  “No, just looking for the toilets.”

  “Just around the corner, love.” I nod my thanks and follow her directions to a sliding door hiding a single same-sex toilet. I breathe out deeply when I’m finally on my own again, away from Ben. He’s strange. Good-looking, almost hot, but very, very strange. I don’t get a read on him, and I’m usually good at reading people. He’s too friendly. Normally, when people are this friendly, they want something in return. He doesn’t look like the type who has to pay for sex. I mean, look at him. He’d just have to chat up a random girl at a party to get a quick fuck, or two. So why is he talking to me? A dirty, unnoticeable street rat?

  I take my sweet time, washing my face in the small sink and rubbing some soap on my armpits. Deodorant, Em style. My brown hair is sticky and filthy. I run my hands through it a few times, trying to get the knots out of it. I should probably cut it short, that’s more practical for the life I’m currently living. Conditioning my hair is not very high on my list of priorities. My bra is itchy and I’d love to wash it, but I don’t want to go back not wearing it. It feels safer with it on, somehow, especially with my shirt being such a thin one.

  After another splash of water on my face to wash away the last of the grime, I return to Ben and my hot chocolate. The cream on top of it has started to melt a little, so it’s the first thing on my plan of attack. I scoop it up and devour it, savouring the taste of cocoa-covered cream.

  Ben watches me with an amused twinkle in his eyes as I delight in slurping the chocolaty foam hiding beneath the cream. I have to come here again, this is the best hot chocolate I've had in years. Then I look at the price written on the large board above the counter and decide not to. At least, not while I still live on the streets. Once I'm back on my own two feet and have a regular income again, I'll come here every day.

  I try and pace myself, but suddenly, my mug is empty and Ben is trying to hide a laugh.

  "Mary, could we have another hot chocolate, please? Add some marshmallows this time."

  Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought at first. I stare at my empty mug, watching tiny brown air bubbles pop their final goodbye on the white porcelain.

  "Do you lie?" Ben suddenly asks and I lift my head to stare at him incredulously.

  "Seriously? Why are you asking me stuff like that when you could be asking me for my sob story?"

  "You didn't answer me when I asked you about that earlier," he says softly.

  "Yes, I lie. Not more than everyone else, though. I think."

  "Are you a good liar?"

  "I guess? It's not something to be proud of, so I've not given it much thought."

  He nods. "Let's play a game. Give me three statements about yourself, two truths and one lie, and I'll try and tell them apart."

  "No, you start." I don’t want to be branded a liar by him.

  "Feisty, I like it." He takes a sip from his Americano, which must now surely be cold. "I had a poodle called Mr Fluffy. My favourite colour is black. I have a license to carry a gun."

  "The third one."

  "Wrong. My favourite colour is pink."

  I snort-gasp. "Seriously? That was a second lie."

  "Is it?" He smiles mysteriously. "Your turn."

  "Okay, let me think. I've never taken drugs. I used to do ballet." I flash my teeth. "I had a Labrador called Mrs Wiggle."

  He laughs at the last one. Good. If they laugh, they are more likely to think it's a lie. His smile disappears and he begins to study me, his face suddenly serious.

  "Interesting..." he mutters under his breath, but we get interrupted by the woman he called Mary, who's bringing me my second hot chocolate. This time, she's put a heap of tiny marshmallows on the saucer. Perfect. I don't like it when they get soggy.

  "The last one," he says confidently.

  "Wrong, she really was called that."

  "Then the first."

  I huff. "Just because I live on the streets doesn't mean that I take drugs, or steal, or lie. This is becoming quite insulting. I never did ballet, I'm not a girly girl, nor have I ever been. I did kickboxing instead."

  "Wow, that's unexpected. And useful."

  "Useful for what?"

  "Mary, could we have some cake?" he calls out instead of answering.

  She shuffles over to our little table. "Which one would you like, dearie?" He raises an eyebrow at being called that, but gives her an indulgent smile.

  "The raspberry gateau you had last week was delicious. I don't suppose..."

  She chuckles. "I've got some in the fridge. I save it for my special customers. And what would you like, darling?"

  I look over at the display case filled with the most delicious cakes. "Something with chocolate?"

  Ben laughs. "Do you eat anything besides chocolate?"

  "Not if I don't have to," I shoot back, my eyes drawn to the large piece of chocolate cake Mary is now placing on a plate.

  “Cream?” she asks and I don’t find words to reply to this amazing woman.

  “Yes, she wants cream,” Ben answers her with a chuckle.

  Mary takes a glass bowl covered with cling film out of the fridge and reveals a massive portion of whipped cream. Not the cheap bottle stuff, no, the good, fatty, calorific goodness. She puts a generous scoop on my giant piece of cake. I think I’m in heaven.

  When Mary puts the plate in front of me, I'm experiencing a food orgasm. Ben looks like he's having fun watching me, but I don't let that deter me from my feast. While he is taking his sweet time with his gateau, my chocolate cake is disappearing at an alarming speed. I will have to brush my teeth extra carefully tonight. The thought of using the public toilets near the station almost drives away my appetite. At night, they are not a place you'd want to be. Smelly, creepy, dark.

  "What else do you like besides chocolate?" Ben asks me when I'm finally slowing down a bit.

  "Carrots. Spinach. Walnuts." I reply in between chewing on a piece of dark chocolate that found its way into the sponge.

  "I didn't mean food, but that
's good to know."

  "You didn't specify. What food do you like?"

  "Sushi," he grins, knowing that I won't be able to resist questioning that.

  "But sushi doesn't have chocolate in it. Or is there chocolate sushi?"

  "I think you're going to get hyper from all that sugar. Has nobody told you it's not healthy to eat so much sweet stuff?"

  "I told you, I also like carrots."

  "Which are sweet," he retorts.

  "Spinach isn't."

  "Okay, spinach is healthy. But you shouldn't eat too much of it, it's got a lot of iron in it."

  He looks at me so seriously that I break out in laughter.

  "You're not my dietician, so you can piss off."

  "Language," he chides and I gape at him.

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously," he confirms. "Alistair won't tolerate swearing in his house."

  "Well, guess it's good then that I'm not living in his house."

  "I was going to-" He breaks off as his phone vibrates in his breast pocket. He checks the caller info and sighs. "I need to take this, wait here."

  He goes outside, leaving his jacket behind. It's cold, he'll be freezing. Hopefully it's not a long call. He's walking back and forth, talking agitatedly. I wait a few minutes, sipping the last of my hot chocolate. Then I remember that I still don't know what he wants from me and that it's not safe, so I take my stuff, slip into my coat and sprint out of the cafe while he has his back turned. I hope Mary didn't think I'd stolen anything. Running away probably made me suspicious.

  Ben turns when he hears the little bells hanging behind the door, but it's too late, I'm already halfway up the close. I didn't tell him, but I used to be in the running team at school. I'm fast and, right now, I'm running as fast as I can.

  https://books2read.com/abandonedheart

  Did you love Broken Princess? Then you should read Abandoned Heart by Skye MacKinnon!

  "Just because one of you carries his scars on the outside, doesn't mean that the rest of you don't have them. Unbroken people don't live in a house together with their colleagues. They have lives, families. They don't take in strays."Emily never expected to find herself on the street and looking for a place to stay. A park bench doesn't seem inviting in the depths of winter.Her luck changes when a mysterious stranger offers her shelter. It seems too good to be true, and when she meets his other two house mates, she starts to question if he's the good Samaritan he seems to be.Staying means things she couldn't even dream of. Going means facing the danger of the winter streets. Can she make the impossible choice? And will she make the right one?A contemporary reverse harem set in Edinburgh, Scotland. This is the extended version of Streets of Winter, a novella previously published in the Snow and Seduction anthology. 18+This is a full-length, standalone novel that's part of the Defiance trilogy: Three books, three women, three real-life stories. These dark contemporary reverse harem romances can be read individually or as part of the series. They are loosely connected by side characters and settings, but they each have a different heroine, theme and love interests.