The-Sinful-King-By-Claire-Contreras-PDF

“Bored of all of it. The party, the people, the pretending,
the masks.”
“So take o your mask.” I shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t
think they’ll kick you out for that. Or you can just leave.”
“Are you leaving?”
“I’m here with a friend.” I sighed heavily and looked over
my shoulder and spotted Etienne dancing with some woman.
They looked like they were doing more than just dancing, so
I looked away quickly. “We practice the whole no man left
behind thing, so I have to wait until he’s finished.”
“He?”
“My friend, Etienne.”
“Etienne.” The man beside me nodded once. “I believe I
met him.”
“He loves a party.”
“Where are you from?”
“That’s a complicated answer.” I looked up at him again.
It was di cult to see what color his eyes were. They were
definitely dark though.
“I like complicated.”
“Okay. I was born here in Marbella. It’s my mother’s
hometown. My father is French. They met in university. I
grew up in the States—in Connecticut, where I went to
school and stayed with my aunt and uncle—while my
parents traveled back and forth between there, here, and
France. My grandmother is dying, so my mother spends
most of her time here, and my father works in Paris, so he’s
over there.” I bit my lip when I finished talking, unsure if
he’d been able to keep up with all of that or even cared to. I
wasn’t even sure why I’d actually explained all of it at all. I
guess because he asked and I was as bored as he said he was.
“Where do you live now?”
“I’ve been living here for the last two months, but I go
back to the States tomorrow.”