“I’m not pissed, but you guys can’t keep doing things behind my back. What’s so much worse than the Harpies trying to get me to kill myself? Than trying to drown me in the pool? Zack …” I step forward and put my hand on his chest, and he covers it with both of his. He’s unbelievably warm, and when I lean into him, his scent soothes my nerves a little. “What’s so much worse?”
“Marnye …” Zack wraps his arms around me, tucks me into his jacket, and holds me close. It feels weirdly like a goodbye hug, and I don’t like that at all. Not one tiny bit. “Let’s just graduate, and run off to Bornstead, huh? You can be the smart girl on the cheer team, and I’ll play football and sneak into your dorm room at night …”
“What about your family?” I ask, but Zack says nothing as I lean back and look up at him.
“I don’t care what they think, or what they want. This is my life, not theirs.” He pauses as Creed pops out of The Mess, leaning his back against the door to hold it open.
“Miranda’s got it,” he says, and I raise both brows. I feel a little sick with emotion right now, but I wring it out by shaking my hands and taking a deep breath before I force a smile to my face.
“Got what?” I ask, and Creed smiles, slowly, seductively, in a way that warms me from the inside out, chasing away some of the dark shadows.
“Our Halloween costumes,” he says as Miranda comes panting over, reaching out to grab both my hands in hers. Those blue eyes of hers are sparkling.
“Royals,” she says, grinning big. “We go as royals: princes, princesses … kings and queens. What do you think? You can wear the crown we got for your birthday. It’s the perfect eff you to Harper, seeing as she and her cronies are trying to coin the term Reigning Royals. So stupid. The Idols and their Inner Circle have ruled this school since …” She pauses and then grimaces slightly, looking to me for confirmation.
“Since it was coined by William Vanderbilt the First, in 1919?” I suggest, and Miranda squeals, throwing her arms around my neck and giving me a sweet-scented kiss on my cheek.
I don’t miss Zack’s dark look as he studies me though.
He says he doesn’t care what his family thinks, but maybe he does?
And I’m sure he’s not the only one.
“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I ask Windsor as we stand inside a bridal shop in Lujo, and I watch the tenth in line to the English throne get a pink bridesmaid dress fitted to his lithe, muscular body. He glances over his shoulder at me, red hair sticking up, hazel eyes twinkling.
“Go right ahead, my darling,” he says as the attendant stands up and excuses herself to grab some more pins. She looked at us like we were crazy when we wandered in here looking to get a dress fitted to a teenage boy as a Halloween costume, even more so when she recognized Windsor and then started frantically texting her friend behind the counter.
Word of this will be all over the Internet by dinnertime. Wind says he doesn’t care, but maybe he does, just not in the way others might think. He might not be ashamed, but he certainly does care: he wants everyone to know just how irreverent he is.
“Why didn’t your mother come to Parents’ Week?” I ask as Windsor examines his dress in the mirror, smoothing his hands down the glittery bodice. He said royals was really a boring theme unless he could dress up like a princess. “I’ve been a prince all my life, what fun is that?” So now both he and Andrew are going in drag. The latter is currently in the dressing room, testing out his pale blue gown.
“My mother?” Windsor asks, frowning, and then shrugging his shoulders like it doesn’t matter much either way. “Too busy being a beloved princess, I suppose. The press worships her, you know. They talk about what she wears to every event, who she dates, how she fucking smiles.” Wind flashes an angry grin, one that’s half mirth, half simply gritting his teeth. “She can barely take a shit without the media snapping photos of her asking what toilet paper she uses. What a horrible existence. Can you only imagine?”
Windsor turns back to the mirror, and puts his hands on his hips, pouting his lips and giving this sassy little sway.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” I ask, stepping up on the dais next to him and fluffing his skirt. “Having to share your mom with the world?” Wind’s eyes slide over to me, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“You think that’s what bothers me?” he asks, smiling sharply. “Oh bloody hell, love. No. It terrifies me, a life like that, having every move amplified until it means a hundred times more than it rightfully should. I don’t want people looking at me like some sort of community pillar.” He turns back to the mirror, pausing as Andrew comes out and plants his own hands on his hips.
The dress … actually looks really good on him, like passably good. He makes a very fishy drag queen (fishy is like … womanly; I have no idea where the term come from, but that’s what it is).
“You should apply for RuPaul’s Drag Race,” I squeal, putting my hands over my mouth. With just the wig, the padding, and the dress, Andrew Payson really does look a little like a princess.
“I feel like I’m always in drag anyway,” he mumbles, studying himself in the five-way mirror. “Okay, we’ll take it.” He nods at the seamstress as she comes out of the back with a fresh pin cushion. She pauses to help Andrew undo the back of his gown, and I study Wind’s tight, stoic expression.
I’ve just barely scratched the surface of Windsor York, but I feel like I have to know more. I need to know more.
I move out of the way, so he can finish up his dress fitting, and then I take a turn of my own.
By the time we’re done in there, we’ve definitely blown my original idea of the budget, but neither Andrew nor Windsor looks bothered at throwing down their cards and paying. When I take my own turn at the register, waiting to hear the price of the dress to see if I can afford it with the price of the alterations included, Windsor grabs my arm and yanks me into his.
“A lady of the court never pays for her own gowns,” he purrs, looking down at me with just a hint of a wicked smile. “I’ve got it, Your Majesty.”
“Stop calling me that,” I say with a laugh, pulling away from him. The three of us step out into the sunshine, pausing at a bookstore down the street before rejoining the others at the café.
I try to be surreptitious when I slip over to the manga section, looking for more yaoi. There’s one wrapped in plastic that says Explicit: Eighteen Plus Only! on the back. One corner’s already torn, and it looks like someone peeked inside already. I mean, since the deed is already done … I peek myself and feel my cheeks flush when I see the explicitness of the art.
Whoa.
Definitely getting this one.
“What’s this? More of your gauche manga?” Creed asks, surprising me by drawing the manga out of my hand and over my head. I spin around to find him standing behind me, dressed in a loose, slightly wrinkled blue button-down and jeans. He doesn’t even try to hide his actions from the bookshop employees when he peels the plastic off and flips right to a dirty scene. His pale blond brows go up. “My, my, Marnye. What have we got here?”
“Give that back,” I whisper, trying to snag it from him, but he’s quick, lifting it out of reach so he can stare at the two dudes, um, well, to put it nicely … fucking? Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
“Whoooooa there,” Zayd says, slumping his inked body over Creed’s shoulders and peeking at the pages as Creed frowns at him, and scowls. “What the fuck is this? Sensitive Pornograph? Is that the title, really, Charity? The Queen of the Elite really is a perv.” Zayd grabs the manga and tucks it under his arm, reaching up to twist some of his sea green hair into little spikes. “I’ll buy this for you; maybe it’ll give you ideas for our next fuck.”
Creed sneers, and leans his shoulder against one of the bookcases, like it’s simply too much effort for him to stand up straight. Like any of the super-rich, he doesn’t seem to care that he’s in a public space. No, the whole world just belongs to him; that’s th
e way things should be. Really, they’re all like that at times.
“Gee, thanks,” I say, but my cheeks are flushed anyway. Between schoolwork, cheerleading, harp, and hanging out with everyone … there’s not a lot of time for sex. Or maybe I’m just not making time for it because I don’t know how to balance all these guys? In reality, I sort of went from zero to a hundred pretty quick. Virgin to … having been with three different dudes.
I exhale as Creed narrows his blue eyes on Zayd.
“From what I hear, you really were a two-pump chump. Maybe that should be the name of your next album? How to Come Quick and Leave Disappointment in My Wake. It’s as long and stupid as your nickname.”
“Hah,” Zayd says, rolling his green eyes and then reaching over my head to grab another manga off the shelf. This one’s about a haunted hot springs hotel haunted by a sexy ghost. I see a lot of boobage as Zayd flips through the novel. This, too, he tucks under his arm. He snaps his fingers in Creed’s direction. “You’re hilarious, bro. Really, bravo.” He faux claps his inked hands, and then flashes me a wicked grin, the two silver piercings in his lip sharp and pointed like arrows. I’ve already tried running my tongue over them, and all they do is make it tingle. I thought they’d hurt at first, but they don’t. I really like them actually.
“What are you two doing here anyway? I thought you were waiting at the café.”
“Eh, Lizzie and Tristan got into this super deep conversation,” Zayd says with a shrug as Creed watches him with a sharpness that belies the nonchalant slump of his beautiful body. Carefully, he tucks his pale fingers into his pockets. “Talk about boring as fuck. We bailed on that quick.”
“You are such an impossible idiot,” Creed drawls, turning his attention over to me. “I’m sorry, Marnye. He doesn’t mean to be crass, rude, and oblivious. He can’t help it. He has no mom, his dad’s a crack-addicted groupie-obsessed rockstar, and his grandma is so enamored with the family business, she once forgot him at a summer camp, and the police had to drive him home. Remember that, Zayd?”
“Why don’t you get fucked?” Zayd purrs, but he stalks off with a scowl, and I can tell Creed’s hit a nerve.
“You’re being a bully,” I tell him, crossing my arms and giving him my sternest stare. He turns back to me and then shrugs his shoulders so loosely and lazily that it almost looks like an accident.
“So? You’re either the bully or you’re the one who gets bullied. Surely you’ve learned that by now?” He pushes off the shelf and stands up, looking down at me with the idle gaiety of the super-rich. He’s amused, but it’s expected for the world to amuse him.
“I’m not allowing bullying at Burberry Prep, you know that.” I give him a look. “I don’t consider getting revenge being a bully.”
“Riiiiight,” Creed drawls, turning around and running his fingers along the edge of the bookshelf, all the way to the end before he glances over his shoulder at me. “The predator or the prey, Marnye. It’s a fact of life.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I say, following after him and around the corner. From here, I can see Miranda, Zack, and Andrew sitting at one of the tables on the raised seating area that rings the bookshop’s own small café. It’s nothing compared to the one across the street, the one with the fireplace and the big comfy chairs, but it’s still cute.
“I was bullied in middle school for being rich. Poor kids can be cruel, too, you know.” He pauses at a shelf full of mystery novels with cartoon cats on them, with titles that are all puns about food and animals. Things like The Cat’s Killer Gives Police Paws. Get it? Creed spins the shelf around, idly browsing the books.
“First off, those kids you went to school with in Grenadine Heights would generally be considered upper middleclass. To the students at Lower Banks, they’d appear to be pretty damn rich themselves. But you’re right. You’re right: every person has the capacity to be cruel. The thing is, we’re all human. We also have the intelligence and the empathy necessary to temper that cruelty.” I grab one of Creed’s pale hands, and he pauses, looking down at me. “I’ve seen you guys at your worst; I want to see you at your best.”
He exhales and lets me curl my fingers through his, pulling me close. When Lizzie and Tristan walk in together a moment later, I do my best not to act like a jealous weirdo.
It’s okay: Creed does it for me.
“You’re such a fucking fool, hanging out with another girl when you’ve got a beautiful girlfriend right here.”
“Quiet, sloth,” Tristan snaps back, meeting Creed’s dark stare with one of his own. He might be a ‘charity case’, but the filthy rich brat inside of him is still there, waiting to rear its wealthy head. “Why don’t you go take a nap somewhere and mind your own business?”
Creed lets go of me, but I’m afraid a confrontation between him and Tristan is incoming, so I step between them, my eyes meeting Lizzie’s amber ones. Her expression gives nothing away.
“Did you get what you needed for the prince’s stupid costume?” Tristan asks, completely deadpan. He’s been like that since Vanderbilt Manor, like a beautiful, broken doll. It’s upsetting to me. I just … I want to shake him. I want to play Twister again, I …
“We got it,” I tell him as Windsor appears over the railing above us, leaning over to tickle my hair.
“I’ve ordered you a cup of tea,” he says, glancing back at the counter. “And I’ve warned the barista of the consequences of failing. Join me?” He stands back up, and I nod, grabbing Creed’s hand … and then Tristan’s. I pull him away from Lizzie, but not before I see her lips part in surprise.
The way she frowns when she joins us at the table a few moments later tells me that that one small action was a bold move in her eyes.
I can only imagine that things might amp up from here on out.
Halloween is always a big thing for us, particularly this year. Not only is it our last high school Halloween party, but it’s also our best chance to make a definitive stand for the school and crush Harper’s minor uprising completely.
Only the Bluebloods of Burberry Prep can host the Halloween party.
After some serious deliberation, we decide to use the casino.
Technically, it’s an Infinity Club property, so that makes our party an Infinity Club party, meaning we’re not allowed to kick the Harpies and the Company out. But that’s okay. We don’t need to kick them out to win. If they’re at our party, we’ve already won.
I’m all dressed up in a white gown that looks a little too much like a wedding dress for my comfort, similar to the one I wore in San Francisco but with even more frills and glittery bits. When the guys saw me, I swear, Creed, Zayd, and Tristan looked terrified … while Wind and Zack looked far too excited. I’m honestly not even sure which of their expressions was worse.
The thing is, I’m supposed to be the queen of the school, Harper’s replacement. I have to look the part. While Miranda and Lizzie are dressed as princesses—along with Andrew and Windsor, of course—and the Inner Circle girls are decked out like a royal court of aristocrats, I had to elevate the costume. So I wore the crown, the very expensive, very decadent crown.
Windsor stares out the window and into the darkness as we crawl through the trees toward the abandoned building. We were out here last week decorating and hauling pumpkins. It’s not quite the perfect spooky Samhain paradise from last year, but this isn’t the type of place you bring caterers and decorators. It’s more of … a student-only sort of facility.
“Why don’t you drive anymore?” I ask, and Windsor glances back at me, his face decked out in as much makeup as I’m wearing. It makes me smile because he’s actually a little bit … pretty? I made him put a pink shawl on over his dress because his arms are too thick and muscular for the whole ‘pretty princess’ thing he’s got going on, but secretly I find them hot as hell. “First thing that comes up online when I Google you is a list of expensive cars that you’ve totaled.”
“Ah, you Americans and your Googl
ing,” he says, which just makes me laugh. Some of his American jokes are pretty spot on. That one was just stupid. Still, I liked it anyway. “You know I crashed that yacht into the harbor, right?” I nod. I’ve read about that online, too. People were hurt, hospitalized even. There’s one girl who was only just recently released. From what I read, she’s still in the process of learning how to walk.
I have to admit, that’s some pretty dark stuff.
“You … don’t have to talk about it, you know,” I tell him, voice quiet. There’s some spooky Halloween music filtering through the speakers, but it’s turned down so low I can hardly hear it. It’s just the two of us in the car. I suggested it because I wanted another private moment to speak with the prince.
“You may as well know the truth,” he says, leaning back against the window and picking at the fabric of his pink dress. “I told you I was coked-up, drunk, and angry, right?” I nod and he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Did I tell you why I was angry?”
“No.” My voice sounds small and quiet as I turn into the casino’s parking lot and find it filled with luxury cars. In just this lot alone, in the value of the vehicles, there’s enough money to put thousands of students through college. Hell, to get them all a doctorate.
The casino looks so freaking spooky from here, all lit up with orange lights, a billowing ghost set up near the path to the back door. There are even zombie babies hanging from one of the trees, backlit with a green spotlight we stole from the theater department.
I turn off the engine, and then spin to face Windsor, my white dress crinkling, all that fluffy lace and satin spilling over the seat.
He stares at me across the dark space.
“My girlfriend was on the dock, partying. She’d just cheated on me with a boy from Eton College.” Windsor sighs and reaches up to slick his hair off his forehead. The thing is, he’s wearing a wig today, so all he does is end up fluffing the red-orange bangs. “We had a huge blow-up fight, and I lost it. I got too high, too drunk, and I hit that dock on purpose.” My brows go up in surprise when Windsor’s voice colors with vitriol and old anger. “I did it on bloody purpose, and then I saw her, crushed and bleeding under some rubble. I …” He looks away, toward a group of giggling girls all dressed up like, well, you know how I feel about this word, but … slutty vampires. I mean, I only say that because they have thongs and fishnets on with their capes and teeth.
In the Arms of the Elite Page 13