Awful Curse: A High School Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (The Celestial Bodies Series Book 1) Read online

  He was the King of Arcadia Prep, until she came for his throne…

  The Celestial Bodies Series

  Book I

  Elena Monroe

  © 2020 by Elena Monroe. All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the written consent and permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, dialogues, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, businesses, locales, or events other than those specifically cited are unintentional and purely coincidental or are used for the purpose of illustration only.

  The publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors, omissions, or contrary interpretation of the subject matter herein. The author and publisher assume no responsibility or liability whatsoever on the behalf of any purchaser or reader of these materials. The publisher and author do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.

  First edition.

  Cover Design: Maria with Steamy Reads

  Editor/Formatting: Sarajoy Bonebright

  Proofreader: Liz Argote

  Photographer: Michelle Lancaster

  Cover Model: Lochie Carey

  Mac –

  Your love of Astrology sparked something in me to dive into the cosmos. Awful Curse isn’t awful at all, but a journey that has stained me forever. I will forever be addicted to my horoscope, moons, and stars as a tool to guide me. Thank you for all the chats that made this book happen.

  Liz –

  For keeping my myth game strong, being my day one and supporting every crazy idea I have. Seriously, I don’t write without your approval first.

  Amber –

  How could I not mention you? You read everything I send (not edited in any sense of the word) and still love these characters as much as I do. BIGGEST hype woman – ever.

  George –

  For not only being married to me but being married to my books too. You let me sacrifice having a life, ignore me when I have to write, and let me talk you to death about all things related. You support my beautiful addiction to writing. I appreciate you.

  Ash –

  GIRL. I literally never have words to express us, you, for someone who writes as much as I do. You keep blowing me away with these graphics, your talent, your wisdom, your dedication, and most all friendship. If the book world teaches me nothing, I will at least have learned to cherish this bond.

  Give Me Books Promotions –

  Y’all deal with my crazy emails and promote my books anyways. That’s gotta get a round of applause. No, seriously, you guys make releasing so smooth and easy. I’m officially a stress free author on release week, because y’all are so amazing at what you do!

  Sarajoy –

  I’ll never run out of ways to thank you and beg you to never leave me. I swear. I can NOT release without you. You spin my crazy, flawed, comma-hating, grammar rebellion into gold. You are a type of magic that doesn’t exist anymore.

  Maria at Steamy Reads –

  These covers slay. I can’t fathom how you do what you do, but it takes a village. You are one of those people in my village that makes these books what they are.

  Rule Breakers –

  Y’ALL.

  You guys are why I write publicly inside of the notes app on my phone in secrecy. All the messages, the edits, the promoting, the reviews, the photoshoots y’all do for my books – THANK YOU.

  You do not go unseen, unheard, or unloved.

  You have power. You made this happen. And you inspire me.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Arianna

  Chapter 2: Arianna

  Chapter 3: Bolton

  Chapter 4: Bolton

  Chapter 5: Arianna

  Chapter 6: Arianna

  Chapter 7: Bolton

  Chapter 8: Arianna

  Chapter 9: Bolton

  Chapter 10: Bolton

  Chapter 11: Arianna

  Chapter 12: Arianna

  Chapter 13: Bolton

  Chapter 14: Arianna

  Chapter 15: Arianna

  Chapter 16: Arianna

  Chapter 17: Bolton

  Chapter 18: Brianna

  Chapter 19: Arianna

  Chapter 20: Bolton

  Chapter 21: Bolton

  Chapter 22: Arianna

  Chapter 23: Arianna

  Chapter 24: Nyx

  Chapter 25: Bolton

  Chapter 26: Arianna

  Chapter 27: Arianna

  Chapter 28: Bolton

  Chapter 29: Arianna

  Chapter 30: Arianna

  Chapter 31: Bolton

  Chapter 32: Arianna

  Chapter 33: Arianna

  Elena Monroe grew up in Florida scribbling down stories from a very young age. These stories were really just wavy lines filling the paper. But she knew each word, each emotion, each character’s name, and there was no tricking her into forgetting what each line signified. Just like her unconventional way of writing as a toddler,

  Elena is setting her own rules and just telling stories.

  Much like her debut novel, The Best Years, life certainly imitated art. Transplanting from the South to the East Coast, Elena currently lives in Connecticut with her husband, reformed bad boy.

  Tell stories, no rules.

  Elena is currently writing all the things. My TBW (To Be Written) is as long as my TBR. I can’t keep a secret to save my life when it comes to my projects so stay tuned.

  Pouya & City Morgue – “Bulletproof Shower Cap”

  Halsey – “Graveyard”

  PVRIS – “Old Wounds”

  PVRIS – “Hallucinations”

  PVRIS – “Death of Me”

  “In all

  there is a cosmos, in all

  a secret order.”

  - Carl Jung (Astrologer)

  Arianna - Sagittarius

  Bolton - Aries

  Nyx - Scorpio

  Austin - Pisces

  Leo - Leo

  Beau - Libra

  Omari and Cheyanne - Gemini

  Luna - Cancer

  Dr. Milo Alba - Virgo

  Kate - Taurus

  Jasper - Capricorn

  Caellum – Aquarius

  Henry Jon

  Spring 1694

  Seattle

  We were long past the darkness of the trials, but we soon found out we would never be done fighting the evil among us. The days were longer, giving us more light to work in our favor. An ache in my bones told me something was coming and I needed to be prepared.

  Every night I prayed, and every morning I woke in the same bliss, I could have cried a grateful tear.

  When the mysterious settlers came across our village from the woods, I knew God was frowning upon us and preparing me in my sleep. This was the battle I was waiting for. Those deranged girls with their dead flowers and book of evils went quietly into the night, too quietly. These were the demons crawling up from Hell as penance for sending their sisters home by fire.

  Revenge.

  Retribution.

  We disrespected the balance.

  I waited, counting my blessing and watching them settle on the edge of our village with ease. They mocked me when they evinced in my direct
ion at the market or walking past the church bells. It came as no surprise when their leader caught the fair eye of my Rosalia.

  She was beguiled quickly by the evil I knew him to be. My child of the one true God was dancing with the Devil.

  The children were never seen at worship. They didn't carry the Bible, and they let the mischief in their irises make questioning who made them simple. They went about town sharing their stories, their beliefs shaming our dedication to God with their myths. The false gods they worshipped were nothing but a bad nightmare to scare the children into faith. They were using it to convert my people, my town, and spitting on my religion.

  They wouldn't escape my watchful eye.

  Arianna

  You know that storm of butterflies that induces a slight sweat and your anxiety kicks into gear, readying to drive you into fight or flight? That was me every six months.

  I never adjusted to being permanently new. I never felt rooted to anyone or anything. I was always willing to say goodbye at every moment, through all of my firsts, making them suddenly lasts.

  The new kid… again. Great.

  I stood in the middle of the room I was assigned to at the Arcadia Preparatory School for the forgotten, left behind, and otherwise independent.

  I didn’t begin to ponder which one I was. I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth.

  Painfully real observations are my specialty when it comes to the rest of the world. I had a sharp tongue, constantly breaking its cage of teeth to tactlessly hurt people in the wrong way. I was still learning to wield this kind of power in my words.

  My dad was brand A military grade quiet, which only made my tongue even more antsy to do the talking for someone else too. It was only him and I after mama passed when I was ten. Naturally I absorbed her silence too, turning it into blabbering. Synchronously, that was the exact time we lost our grip on our sanity. We took her for granted, every minute, up until we lost her. Suddenly, we were fighting to learn how to do anything for ourselves.

  I stumbled my way through puberty, barely making it to womanhood with no real female gracing my presence—not a permanent one anyways. Just my highly decorated military dad, who was a ranger and who spent more time overseas than actually in the country he swore to protect. He left me constantly to bounce around from different extended family and friends.

  I assessed the old, ancient even, iron gates of Arcadia Prep, while our car was stopped, waiting for them to open. My dad had to press a button on a com for the iron to break down the middle and let us in.

  I was hoping it’d stay closed.

  The driveway was more like a dirt road being stalked by thick woods on either side, lined with old streetlamps and nothing giving away that this was, in fact, a school.

  Everything after we passed through the iron gates seemed eerie. This didn’t seem like a normal boarding school—at least not a happy one. There was a thick fog as the temperature shifted from the blazing highs of summer to the slight chill of autumn.

  Seattle wasn’t Texas; that much was obvious. The only gloomy parts of Texas were in the outskirts, away from the cities, where the land was flat and resembled The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s aesthetic. I was in Austin with my aunt last, which was far from horrific. The city was the power source for starving artists and hip cafes.

  Arcadia Prep wasn’t home—not even close.

  The main building was all stone and brick, historically old and not impressing me. History was my least favorite subject. The building sat much further away from the rest of the campus, with pathways reaching out in every direction to other larger buildings. I grabbed my bag and tossed a stick of gum into my mouth, as I unwillingly got out of the car with a nudge from my dad, hitting my knee.

  A woman in an all-black, floor-length dress, with a long face that hollowed at her eyes and cheeks, “greeted” us, which didn’t help me see this change in a positive light. It was all still creepy as fuck.

  “Welcome to Arcadia Prep, the school for the wise and intelligent leaders of tomorrow. You must be Arianna?”

  I laughed at her saying my name. She tried to say it with an upscale twist like I was some elite leader of tomorrow. “No, it’s pronounced the shitty way. Just plain Arianna.”

  She crossed her arms unamused. My dad scolded me silently, while he introduced himself and dragged my bags behind him. I refused to make this transition any easier for anyone involved.

  The woman who was guiding our Arcadia Prep tour wasn’t even close to friendly. Her voice was a shrill tone that made goosebumps along my spine.

  She actually used skeleton keys to unlock the door we finally stopped at which sent the goosebumps further down my arms. I had watched my fair share of scary movies, wondering too hard how those people felt, in the middle of sheer horror.

  Now, I knew.

  She was tall but that was no reason to literally look down at people. I was painfully aware I didn’t belong here with my purple hair, Doc Martens, and jean jacket that was from the 80’s. I let people associate me with being a Stranger Things super fan, instead of telling people it was my dead mom’s.

  I made that mistake at school number three this year with what I learned later was the mean girl. Suffice to say, it didn't work out in my favor when I landed in the principal’s office after she thought of using my dead mom to torture me.

  Our creepy guide huffed, waiting for my father, who was trailing too far behind us, carrying my duffle that really looked like a body bag and wheeling two suitcases I refused to wheel in myself. I had looked at the brochure the whole way here, like it would magically illuminate a way out of bad behavior. My attitude could grow into a monster which got me kicked out of my last three schools and made a good case for having me banned in the tri-state area from public school. Guess that’s how I ended up at Arcadia Prep—at boarding school.

  Did I mention that it was my senior year, on top of being new? Double whammy.

  The room was suffocatingly small and even the walls were wood paneling. The one small window dividing the twin-sized beds in the room barely illuminated the completely dark side belonging to my roommate.

  Yes, a roommate my senior year of high school. What could go wrong putting two hormonal girls, who are strangers, together in one room for a year?

  I desperately missed my bedroom that was all to myself at my last stay-cation. That’s what I called long vacations with no real destination. I was the residency guest at various homes.

  My aunt drew the line when the cops brought me home and my then boyfriend’s mom lodged a formal complaint with our school and law enforcement, after he got hurt during our last adventure.

  That was my strike three with disobedience.

  To be clear, we snuck into the dam after hours, and security didn't feel like giving us a warning—not with my reputation and not when I was with the son of the mayor. I couldn't even hold it against him. I dragged him there, craving an adventure of my own. He was completely innocent if we didn’t count the heavy make out session and his fingers slipping between me and my underwear.

  The tall, slender woman with hooded eyes, and the kind of nonchalant air that could knock you over, handed me a piece of plastic doubling as an electronic keycard and debit card to pay for my meals. I tucked it in my back pocket absently. I was not focusing on staying but escaping. They could keep the doors locked all they wanted, as long as I wasn't locked behind them.

  My dad’s heavy hands landed on my shoulder as she ghosted her way out of the room. She moved like she hovered above the ground, and I couldn't even tell how, because her legs were covered by the length of her dress.

  “Okay, kiddo, this is it. You're gonna be on your own, but the school knows the deal. I'll call when I can, so keep your phone on you.”

  I couldn't force my eyes up further than our shoes between us. Ironically, we were both wearing boots. Mine were rooted in rebellion and his in order.

  I hate goodbyes with so much passion it crippled my heart. After saying goodbye to m
y last boyfriend, I vowed to cage my heart. I shoved the organ in a box, filed it deep below my lungs and threw away any idea of a key. I had to start protecting myself. This new home didn't seem to yield any promises of permanence either, not when it was my senior year and I had dreams to be in California, not Seattle.

  “Dad…” was all my dry voice choked out.

  He pulled me into his broad, solid chest and held me to him as my eyes welled up and I held my breath. He finally pulled away after what seemed like longer than a typical hug, and he couldn't resist tousling up my hair like I was still his little broken girl who lost her mom too young and couldn't manage to find stability.

  “No boys. Seriously. Aunt Dee really let that slide.”

  I pulled the delicate skin under my eye with my pointer finger, wiping the tears away before they were spotted and smeared with makeup that wasn't waterproof.

  “I'm almost eighteen, old man. I can date. You're the only person who thinks that way.”

  He saluted me in the doorway as he typically did every time he left for some secret mission and location. As he created distance between him and me, I heard him shout loud enough for it to echo. “I mean it, no boys! I'll hunt them down personally, and you know my aim is aces.”

  I couldn't help but chuckle as I still wiped away stray tears. I thought I'd be used to goodbyes by now. I had plenty of practice, but they never got easier.

  The mattress was wrapped in plastic, and it made an obnoxious noise as I sat down and wilted. My beat up Doc Martens were no longer white but stained with every kind of dirt from at least six different states. I was a walking road map, and I grew to like my shoes collecting pieces of where I had been.

  I didn't even bother to unpack this time. I simply laid my suitcases down and threw my duffel on the dresser meant to be mine. I closed the door to the room, barren and all, before I went to investigate my surroundings.