by Sofia Daniel
I wrapped my hand around the phone and glanced at the screen. It was a long message from Rita, asking if I had boarded the plane yet. A breath of relief slid from my lungs. She seemed quite excited that I was leaving the country, as opposed to harassed that the triumvirate had stormed our room, demanding answers.
A sharp finger prodded me in the lower back. It belonged to a middle-aged man dressed in a charcoal, pin-striped suit. His sharp features were a younger version of Rudolph’s which reminded me of the unfair ultimatum.
His pale, blue eyes flashed. “Are you going to buy a ticket or send text messages?”
“My smartphone is a payment device.” I let my gaze flicker down his thin form. “We’ve moved on from money orders. And from poking girls in the ass.”
His cheeks turned red, and he spluttered, “I did no such thing!”
“Why poke a girl at all?”
Breathing hard, he glanced from left to right before storming to another ticket line. I turned around and bought an Oyster card. Since I planned on spending time in London, it made sense to save money buying an electronic, rechargeable ticket.
After paying, I stood at the wall between the ticket machines and sent Sergei a text. I’m stranded in London. Do you have a spare couch? :)
Seconds later, the phone buzzed. This is Andreo. Sergei is playing at the South Bank Center until 23h. Can you get to Sloane Square station?
Yes. I replied.
One of the guards will meet you outside and take you to our apartment.
The tightness around my neck and torso that I didn’t notice before melted away, and I leaned against the wall and exhaled a noisy breath of relief. Thank you! I’ll get there as soon as I can.
The sun had set by the time I stepped out into Sloane Square, and one of the bodyguards was already waiting. He gave me a nod of greeting and gestured at a street of Victorian mansion apartments overlooking the river. Street lights lit our way, and I breathed hard, trying to imagine which one of these buildings was Sergei’s.
Sergei’s apartment was a duplex with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a suspension bridge lit up by a thousand lightbulbs with views of a park on the other bank of the River Thames. It had an open-plan living area with a kitchen, diner and a bank of leather sofas with views of both a projector TV and of the magnificent vista. The bodyguard showed me to a room the size of my dorm, which he assured me in broken English was unoccupied.
I sat on the bed, pulled out my smartphone, and sent a message to Rita. My ticket to New York got canceled, and I’m staying with Sergei.
She replied with, What about the school in NY your stepfather promised??
A lump formed in my throat. If I’d allowed Rudolph to send me to military school, I wouldn’t be in this mess. He wants me to return to Mercia and spy.
They’ll kill you.
My heart sank. I know. Edward and Blake would restart their campaign of vicious pranks, and Henry would give me disapproving glares if he didn’t join them. But at least I have all of Easter break to work out a way to avoid going back.
Rita didn’t reply. Maybe because I was a lost cause. I stared at Edward’s last message. He hadn’t messaged again with news about his father, and I doubted that he would give me any updates. I had never meant for my actions to hurt a widower who required round-the-clock care for dementia. Edward had to know that.
I hope you’re proud that your machinations have brought both the school and the duchy into disrepute.
My heart spasmed. He had to be feeling as betrayed as I had during my captivity in that basement room. At first, I had been confused that anyone would think me capable of kidnapping Henry, but with Blake’s prompting, I had worked out that they had framed me. The pain of that treachery had been unbearable and still stung even today. This morning, I had convinced Edward that I wasn’t the leak, gotten a confession of love, then seduced him, only to disappear while he slept.
I had to be the world’s biggest bitch.
Rita texted later to say that she’d had to delete my messages because Blake knocked on the door and demanded to see her phone. Hours later, the apartment filled with the sounds of male voices. I stepped into the hallway, padded down the stairs, and hovered by the end of the banister.
Sergei walked through the doors, wearing a black tuxedo with a matching vest and a silver bowtie. His black hair had grown a few inches and hung past his collarbone. He furrowed his brows and stared at me with worried, aquamarine eyes. “Emilia?”
I rushed into his arms. “I’m sorry, but I had nowhere else to go!”
He guided me to the sofas and sat me down. “What happened?”
The entire, sorry tale blurted out. He already knew about the events of the end of my first term, but I told him how I’d gotten revenge on the boys and a few others by revealing their secrets to the Saturday Correspondent. Sergei listened without interruption or judgment, and when I finished by telling him that I’d lost my virginity earlier in the day, he wrapped his arms around me.
“I am so sorry,” he murmured into my hair. “These people are continuing to make you suffer.”
I drew back and stared into his bright eyes. “Huh?”
“You feel guilty, even after everything they did to you.”
“But Edward’s father got arrested—”
“Which would have happened eventually when someone else exposed the headmaster.”
My mouth dropped open, and a gasp caught in my throat. Sergei was right to some extent. It hadn’t been like I was manufacturing stories. Everything I’d shared with the Correspondent had happened of its own accord, but I was still eaten up by guilt. “Friends don’t report friends to the papers.”
Sergei clasped my shoulders with both hands and gave them a gentle squeeze as though telling me to wake up. Two lines appeared on his brows as he drew them together. “And friends do not frame friends for their own crimes.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I really needed that.”
Later that evening, my phone buzzed as I was dozing off. I rolled over to the bedside table and glanced at the screen. Edward’s text said, I suppose you’ve left the country.
The lack of anger or recrimination in his message made my heart sink. It was as though realization had finally dawned, and he’d resigned himself that I had gone. I closed my eyes and tried to fall back into slumber, but my mind kept dredging up images of Edward’s blue eyes, filled with wonder as I surrendered my virginity to him.
My eyes opened, and I bolted upright, pressing a palm over my aching chest. I hadn’t counted on hurting him that much, and when the Saturday Correspondent published an article on the papers he had entrusted to me, it would rip out what was left of his heart. I clenched my fists and let out a frustrated breath. If I kept letting thoughts of Edward haunt my mind, sleep would evade me for an eternity.
Mom used to give me a glass of milk when I couldn’t sleep. Maybe a drink might clear my mind. I slipped out of bed, padded across the little room, and opened the door.
The mezzanine was dark with only the barest of light at the lower level. As I reached the bannister, a low, male chuckle resounded from below. I peered down to find a shirtless Andreo lying on the sofa with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. Sergei straddled his thighs, clad in a black robe that exposed his muscular back.
My lips parted, and every ounce of my attention fixated on the two men.
Sergei kissed a path along Andreo’s jawline, then sucked on his lover’s neck. He held the larger man down by the wrists, making him writhe and strain against his hold. Andreo’s low, resonant moan sent tingles between my legs, and I swallowed hard. This was unbelievably hot.
The lower Sergei kissed, the more he exposed of Andreo’s tanned, muscular body, and the more those muscles bunched and strained against Sergei’s hold. Andreo clenched his teeth and forced out some words in strained Russian. From his tone and the way he bucked against Sergei, he probably wanted an end to the slow teasing.
Sergei chuckled and shuffled further down Andreo’s body, revealing the other man’s collarbones and muscled pecs. I bit my lip and stifled a moan.
This was so much like the Valentine’s party with Henry and Blake. Except they wouldn’t have objected to me gaping at them. Sergei pinched Andreo’s nipples, making the other man suck in a breath through his teeth and hiss something out in French.
One of Sergei’s hands reached down between their bodies, and Andreo let out a sigh of both pleasure and relief. I gripped the bannister and squeezed my thighs together. At any moment, Sergei would go down on his lover, and I’d intrude further on their private moment. I had to leave. Now.
When Sergei’s arm started moving, I released my grip on the wood and backed away. I stepped into my room and eased the door shut, careful not to make a sound and let them know I’d been watching.
The drapes of my room were open, revealing the suspension bridge in its illuminated splendor. Its lights reflected on the river, but I couldn’t focus on the magical view. Not when I’d seen Sergei and Andreo together. Not when they reminded me so much of Henry and Blake.
I flopped on the bed, a mass of frustration and need. After what I’d just seen, I would never get to sleep. Each breath, every movement, brushed my hardened nipples over the cotton of my nightgown and sent tiny thunderbolts of arousal between my legs. One thigh crossed over the other, and hot pulses of pleasure rippled through my core.
“This isn’t working.” I parted my thighs and pulled my nightgown up to my hips.
Cool air swirled between my legs, over my clit, reminding me of the wetness in my core. I groaned and reached between my thighs. The tip of my finger skimmed my throbbing nub, and I drew in a breath between my teeth. Even though Sergei and Andreo had triggered this arousal, it seemed rude to think of them while I masturbated, so I cast my mind back to what I’d seen at the Valentine’s party.
Cast my mind back to Blake, sprawled beneath a half-naked Henry, kissing him with abandon.
I dipped the pad of my fingertips into my sopping core and gathered enough moisture to let them glide over my throbbing clit in little circles. My nipples tightened, demanding my attention, and I rolled my right one between my fingertips and rubbed harder on my twitching nub.
Blake, with his hands on Henry’s tight, muscled ass, invaded my thoughts.
I parted my legs as far as they would go, remembering now the two boys had knelt in front of me, servicing my needs with their fingers and tongues. I increased the pressure on my clit and bit down hard on my bottom lip, imagining the finger belonged to someone else.
In my mind’s eye, Blake’s full lips wrapped around Henry’s length, making the other boy moan and shudder and groan.
The muscles of my core tightened with each stroke of my clit, and pleasure built to the rhythm of my movements. I squeezed my eyes shut and tweaked my nipple, just as Edward had done the day the triumvirate thought they’d seduced me into forgiving them.
Pleasure coiled around my core like a snake, and the world disappeared. There was no more Edward or Henry or Blake. No more double-dealing and treachery. It was just me and my fingers and my quivering core. My fingers continued moving over my clit, and the images in my head jumbled into a mass of muscular bodies quaking with pleasure, just like me.
Then as I pictured my own lips closing over the head of Edward’s beautiful, pink penis, my pleasure spiked, and a climax seized my body in a torrent sensations. Every spasm of my core forced out wave upon wave of pleasure, making me moan and shudder until all thoughts of men and the triumvirate retreated to the back of my mind.
Chapter 3
The next morning, a knowing smile curved Sergei’s lips as he and Andreo sat opposite me at breakfast. One of the bodyguards had brought apricot pastries, and I could barely eat, knowing that Sergei or Andreo had spotted me watching them.
“Ummm…” I bit down on my lip. “Whatever happened with the investigation on your father?”
Sergei’s smile faded, and he shook his head. “Alexander deals with these matters.”
My gaze flicked to the smallest of the bodyguards, a dark-haired man in his early thirties with hair closely cropped to his scalp. “Sorry for bringing up the subject.”
Andreo topped up my coffee from a silver pot, lips quirking into a smile. “Sergei has a concert tonight. Will you accompany us as his beard?”
“Sure,” I said with a relieved breath. This would be the last time I’d bring up the subject of his father’s poisoning.
I spent the next few weeks attending events on Sergei’s arm and appearing in the society pages as his devoted fiancée. Mom didn’t text for details, but Dad kept pestering me with questions until I explained that Sergei was just a friend who wanted to drum up a bit of publicity. The pictures, unfortunately, attached the attention of Edward.
Will you return to Mercia Academy next term?
I stared at the phone and gulped. If he had demanded a meeting in London, I would have agreed, but returning to his territory and to all the people affected by the Correspondent articles would be suicide. I tapped the icon for my banking app. My allowance would arrive in a few days, and it would give me enough for a flight back to New York.
A few days before term started, Sergei took me out in the limo to the Claridge’s Hotel for breakfast. It was a late Georgian building constructed of red bricks that had probably been built around the same time as the Bourneville’s department store. Its grand entrance of white pillars and floor-to-ceiling, art deco windows made me draw in the same awed breath as I had the day the boys had taken me shopping for a ballgown.
As I stepped out of the limo to the crowds of paparazzi, I forced a smile and tried not to think of Henry. I took comfort in Sergei’s large hand on the small of my back and walked through the entrance and into the black-and-white tiled foyer.
The dining room was a huge, magnolia-colored space of smartly-dressed tables, decorated with white roses that matched both the table cloths and the pillars. Hanging from the ceiling was an ornate chandelier of flower-bud shapes and glass spirals that looked more like a sculpture than a source of light. Sergei had booked a table by an arched window, behind which photographers gathered to take pictures of us.
Sergei reached across the table and took my hand in his. “A promoter has offered me a three-month tour of Europe. We leave in two days. Will you come with us?”
I chewed my lip and gazed into his earnest, aquamarine eyes. The thought of visiting places like Paris, Vienna, and Rome made my heart flutter, but I couldn’t put my life on hold for a fake relationship. “I’m sorry, Sergei. I have my studies.”
“I will have to hand back the keys to the owner of the apartment,” he said. “Will you return to the United States or stay in London?”
The waiter arrived with our orders, and Sergei let go of my hand. My gaze dropped to my plate of eggs Benedict. My plan had been to stay in his apartment until Mom sent my allowance, but it hadn’t materialized, and everyone I messaged had said they couldn’t reach her regular phone. Rudolph must have somehow convinced her not to send me any money. I couldn’t ask Sergei to buy my ticket. He’d done enough for me, and even if I reached the States, there might not even be a room for me at Rudolph’s mansion.
“I’m…” I cleared my throat. “I’m returning to Mercia Academy.”
“Are you sure?” He placed a hand on my wrist.
I nodded. “Term starts tomorrow. I’d better go.”
Sergei nodded. “Is money your problem? I can—”
“No.” A nervous laugh warbled in the back of my throat. Sergei believed the triumvirate thought I was disposable. Admitting that my mother and stepfather also acted like I wasn’t worth the expense of pocket money was too much to bear. “I have to face the boys one day. It may as well be now.”
He stared at me for a long time, his eyes boring into my soul. Eventually, he sighed. “This would be a good time to stage our break-up.”
“Um…” I drew my
brows together, trying to work out what he meant. Then my attention dropped to the fake diamond on my finger. I slipped it off to a flurry of camera flashes, and handed it to Sergei, who hung his head. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little too much?”
“I want to look devastated,” he muttered. “Like it will take years to mend my broken heart.”
I bit down hard on my lip. If the cameras caught me smiling at his sad display, the press would write me up like some kind of villain.
Later that evening, I sent Edward a text. I’ll be there on Monday.
His reply was instant. Take the 9:45 from Victoria. I’ll reserve you a seat.
On Monday, Sergei escorted me to Victoria station, this time without the press fanfare. We walked in silence through the busy concourse amidst the cacophony of busy travelers and loudspeaker announcements. The mingled scents from the stores and restaurants made my stomach churn, and I tried not to think of what would await me when I finally arrived at Mercia Academy. We stopped at the platform’s ticket barrier, then he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and kissed both cheeks. “If you change your mind, send me a text.”
I smiled and stared up into his sad eyes. Apart from Rita, he was the best friend I had made so far in England. “Thanks.”
“You are always welcome in my entourage.” He whispered the next part into my ear. “And not just as a beard.”
I laughed and threw my arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you. Thanks again for everything.”
The warm glow Sergei left as I boarded dimmed into a flicker the moment the train departed the station. I was doing something I promised Rita I wouldn’t do: returning to Mercia Academy. This time, I wouldn’t be shunned or ignored by the triumvirate. They would rip me apart and leave what was left of me for the other students to pick through.