by Sofia Daniel
My stomach twisted. All those fantasies of finding scandalous stories to humiliate the boys evaporated, leaving behind memories of struggling through my bedroom, naked with my eyes burning from something they’d put in my shampoo. The next time they pulled that prank, would they shove me out into the hallway to parade myself in front of the masses and their cameras? I pushed away that thought. This time, I wouldn’t antagonize the triumvirate, and I still held their secret. Things had to go differently.
I forced a smile. “I’ll be fine.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I heard about what happened to you when you left.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “If you’re here for revenge, you should turn back. Nothing good ever came from defying those three.”
The bell went, and Rita dashed to her mailbox, picked up a letter, and scurried back to classes. I went to Mr. Jenkins’ office to pick up my keys. The man lowered his neck into his hunched shoulders and hid behind one of the many stacks of papers on his desk. He’d probably heard all about the violent send-off courtesy of the inhabitants of Elder House and their guests and couldn’t look me in the face. After I picked up the keys, I returned to my room, lowered myself onto the bed, and sighed. In less than two hours, it would be time for me to make my grand entrance.
I stood in the bathroom mirror, checking my appearance. My pale auburn hair waved around my face, and the brown liner I’d placed on my lash line to frame my eyes was still intact. I reached into the inside pocket of my blazer, pulled out a red lipliner and placed it straight back. The objective of my look was desirable, not desperate. Instead, I applied a layer of rosebud liner on my lip line. I could have placed it outside like Charlotte did to make her thin lips look fuller, but anyone with a sharp pair of eyes would be able to see the fakery. I couldn’t give the girls any ammunition against me.
The burner phone in my inside pocket vibrated. It was a text from Jackie, asking if I was in place. I texted back to say I would soon meet my classmates at lunch. Her next text was a demand for a story, and I slipped the phone back into my blazer. It had taken them weeks to get me back into the academy. Surely, she didn’t want immediate results?
The lunch bell rang. I stayed in my room, calculating the amount of time it would take for a person to pack their things, walk across the campus, and settle into the dining room. After brushing down my uniform to remove any traces of lint and checking my teeth for signs of breakfast, I left the room and took the long walk down the stairs, across the hallway, and to the dining room.
My feet froze at the doorway. I had forgotten the majestic, triple-height windows, the mahogany-paneled walls, and the paintings of the king and the armored knight. Blake, Edward, and Henry sat in their usual seats at the head table like kings. Wendy and Patricia sat at Blake’s end and Charlotte perched on the right next to Henry. A breath caught in my throat, combining shock and awe and outrage.
My stomach hardened. I could do this. Face the people who had treated me like the kind of disgrace to be tarred and feathered. I stepped inside, keeping my chin high.
A hush fell across the dining room, and every face turned to me. Apart from the faces I wanted. Edward glanced up from his meal to see what had caused everyone to fall silent. Our eyes locked for a millisecond, then he continued eating, not showing an ounce of anger or curiosity.
My throat dried. I could only describe his expression as indifference.
Henry stared straight through me as though he’d found the coat of arms over the door more fascinating than the girl he’d spent nine days in a dingy room. Part of me wanted to storm over and demand to know what he’d done with the five-hundred thousand dollars he’d scammed out of his parents, but I held back. If the boys had framed me for calling the police with a description of the kidnappers, what would they do if I announced their secret in front of the entire dining room? The memory of Edward upturning the table made me wince.
Not even Blake spared me a glance. He was pretending to be fascinated by Wendy’s knuckles and placed kisses on each of them, making her giggle.
My shoulders drooped, and I trudged to my usual table. Rita wasn’t there. Had she returned to eating sandwiches in her room? I hoped she’d deepened her friendship with the other scholarship students. The sweet girl deserved a break.
“Hobson?” said a voice. “Come and sit with us.”
Alice, one of Charlotte’s doppelgängers, sat with the scrawny boy with the thick glasses who had rejected me on my first day. With another sweep of the surrounding tables to check for signs of Rita, I crossed the room, hoping this wasn’t a trick. A few people turned back to their meals, but most tracked my movement across the dining room. Nobody hissed insults as I passed, and I wondered if that was related to all the sightings of me on Sergei’s arm at various functions.
“It’s good to see you looking so well.” Alice’s face split into a wide smile. “Won’t you join Duncan and me?”
I raised my brows at the bespectacled boy, hoping he would remember how he had refused to let me sit with him, claiming that there were no seats for Yanks. He cast a nervous glance at the head table, then nodded and stared into his bowl of tomato soup.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”
Alice glared at the head table. “When you left, the boys invited us back to their table, and after dinner, Edward asked me back to his room. I gave him an ultimatum. Patricia or me.” Her gaze dropped down to the bread on her side-plate. “He chose Patricia.”
I sat. “That might not necessarily be a bad thing.”
Duncan’s head snapped up, making his thick glasses bounce on the bridge of his nose. “That’s what I keep telling her,” he said in an accent so thick and posh, I had to strain to listen. “Those toss-pots aren’t worth the effort.”
I gave him a hard look. “Yet you told me Yanks weren’t welcome at your table.”
“That was before I knew what you were like. You’re not nearly as bad as everyone said.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
Alice nodded. “I was with Edward on and off for two years before he discarded me. All because I couldn’t share him any longer with my best friend.”
The server took my order and returned shortly after with a plate of asparagus and grilled trout. I glanced at Alice, whose features looked different. She wore her hair on her face instead of the usual ponytail, and her shoulders were no longer pushed back to emulate Charlotte’s ample chest. Maybe she did have a grudge against the triumvirate and the doppelgängers. It was hard to tell.
“Have you seen Bourneville?” asked Duncan. “I used to think he was a decent sort, but now he’s flashing his cash like a used car salesman. Underwood is milking him for what he’s worth.”
I swallowed hard. Now that Henry had nearly half a million pounds of spending money, he could afford to date a gold digger like Charlotte.
Alice leaned forward and fluttered her eyelashes. “I’ve read every society column about you. What’s Sergei Bachmann like? Does he have any single musician friends?”
My lips curled into a smile. Alice really was outcast, and she’d only invited me to use as a stepping stone to a more glamorous life. She had been part of the group who had organized that terrible gauntlet, and the least I could do was use her to exact my revenge.
“He does, but none are as handsome as Sergei,” I replied. “Sergei been invited to play at a singles party next month. I’ll see if he can wrangle you an invitation.”
Her eyes lit up. “If you can invite a few others, you’ll be even more popular than Charlotte.”
Chapter 4
Classes continued as usual, except that the triumvirate sat with each other or with Charlotte and the doppelgängers, and I sat alone, just as I had before the kidnapping. I’d thought that Blake, the usually flirtatious member of the trio, would break ranks and approach me, but even he acted as though I didn’t exist. Occasionally in the hallway, someone from one of the lower years would mutter a half-hearted ‘trollo
p’ as I passed, but the new version of myself followed after them to demand they repeat their insult and to explain what I’d done to warrant it. Their pasty faces would turn pink, they would stammer, and they would scurry out of sight like cowards.
Despite Rita’s entreaties to keep a low profile, I continued my regime of hair and subtle makeup and walked around the campus with my head high and my posture straight. Increasing amounts of students would greet me in the hallways, which was a welcome start. Alice explained that being in the British society pages made me an international celebrity rather than a common Yank, whatever that meant.
One Friday in English Lit, I felt the burn of someone’s stare on the side of my face. Without making it too obvious, I turned my head a fraction and found Henry looking at me. Perhaps he was the weakest link. We had become close during our supposed captivity with the stoners. Maybe he felt bad about framing me for his own crime.
Miss Oakley told us to get into pairs, and Henry twisted in his seat, head turned to me. I held my breath, waiting for him to call out my name.
Someone knocked on the door, and a fifth-year prefect who wore her hair in a long braid like Rita’s stepped inside. “Emilia Hobson has a visitor at reception.”
My eyes widened. “Who?”
“It’s something about a press conference.” She swept her braid over her shoulder and left.
Whispers sussurated through the room like a sudden wind. I swallowed. Was this something Jackie had set up without telling me? I’d been back at the academy for a week and still hadn’t produced anything she could use in her paper.
Miss Oakley clasped her hands to her chest. “You’d better go, Miss Hobson. It could be your handsome prince.”
Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I stuffed my books into my satchel. Ever since Charlotte had implied I was some kind of slut for pay, the old woman slipped references to Cinderella and Pretty Woman into our every conversation. The annoying part was that she wasn’t malicious, just a little addled.
I followed the prefect out of the room, down the hallway and into the reception area. It was empty. “Where’s this press conference?”
“He said he’d be waiting for you outside.”
“He?”
“Foreign fellow.” The prefect headed back into her classroom.
I stepped through the double doors of the main teaching block, squinting against the cold rush of wind and expecting to see Rudolph’s limo, but it was Sergei, sitting in a red sports car. A bolt of excitement shot through my heart, and I rushed down the stone stairs to the passenger side. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “Jackie said you were lonely in school, so I thought I would come and see you and create a little publicity for myself.”
“Where are Andreo and the others?” I glanced down the empty, forest-lined driveway.
“Not far behind.” He leaned across the passenger seat and opened the door.
When I scooted inside and got myself settled into the warm, leather seat, Sergei held out a box and flipped open its lid. “Do not be excited. It’s just a simulant.”
I gaped at a solitaire encased in burgundy velvet. “Should I put it on?”
“There are people watching.” He jerked his head toward the entrance of the academy, where a few stray students stood outside the doors. “It will give them something to report back to their friends.” He pulled the ring out of its casing, slipped it on my finger and pressed his lips to my knuckles.
I smirked and fastened my seatbelt. Someone had likely recorded that for the Mercia-Net.
With a roar of the engine that made the onlookers jump, Sergei sped down the driveway and through the gates, where he slowed to take in the expanse of frost-covered fields. He tutted. “Why would a girl like you go to school so far from London? Do you ever feel trapped?”
“My stepfather sent me here.” I swept my fingertips over the leather armrest and glanced through the tinted window at a herd of sheep huddled together against the cold. “He just wanted me out of the way to get all my mom’s attention.”
“A possessive man.”
“Yeah. Controlling, too.”
Sergei slowed to a stop outside the village tea shop, which was already swarming with paparazzi. “Whatever happened with those boys from your school?”
“They’re ignoring me.” I unbuckled my seatbelt.
“They are playing games.” He stepped out of the car, walked around its hood, and helped me out.
A gust of cold wind hit me in the face, and a riot of camera flashes filled my ears, their flares of light making me blink. No matter how much I thought I’d gotten used to the paparazzi, their presence en masse was always disconcerting.
I turned to Sergei in an attempt to save my vision. “Did anything happen recently? You don’t usually get so many following you around.”
“The inquest into my Father’s death was published today.” He laced his fingers through mine and guided me across the road. “It concluded that he was poisoned.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m so sorry. You must be devastated.”
He shook his head and opened the door to the tea shop. “Father was more like a teacher than a parent.” The scent of freshly baked cakes engulfed us, and we stepped inside, where four of his bodyguards sat at tables with empty cups. Behind us, a car door opened, and Andreo stepped in behind us, looking bored.
Sergei!” shouted a reporter. “What do you think of today’s inquest?”
He raised a hand. “I refuse to answer questions on that subject.”
“Sergei!” shouted a reporter. “What brings you to Mercia county?”
He gestured at me. “Emilia returned to school, and I wanted to see her.”
All the female reporters cooed at that comment, and I forced a wide smile for the camera. A disgruntled old lady brought a pot of tea and two cups the bodyguards must have ordered, and I sent her an apologetic smile. Although the reporters had also ordered tea, they were still disturbing the peace of her establishment.
“Emilia,” shouted a reporter I recognized from the Saturday Correspondent. “Is that an engagement ring?”
Panic burst through my chest, and my mouth dried. Whatever I said next could either help or hinder my mission. I turned to Sergei. “You tell them.”
He gave the reporters an enigmatic smile. “We are not ready to make any official announcements.”
The reporters continued their barrage of questions, while Sergei poured us each a cup of tea. He redirected the conversation to his plans to conquer the classical music circuit in Europe and made a few diplomatic comments about other classical pianists.
Throughout the conversation, Mr. Carbuncle pushed his way through the crowd and walked up to the counter. The old woman gave him a box, presumably containing cake, but the janitor leaned on the counter, listening to the rest of the press conference, his oversized mustache twitching with disapproval. Disgust rippled through my belly at the sight of the man, but I forced a smile so wide, my cheeks ached.
The next morning at breakfast, I walked to the table I shared with Alice and Duncan. Rita had awoken early to spend time with the upper-sixth year boy from Hawthorne House who she’d befriended the previous term. I was pleased for her, and suspected she kept her distance to avoid being caught up in the shit storm I would create when I finally enacted my revenge.
As soon as I sat, one of the girls jogged over with their smartphone open to a digital copy of the Saturday Correspondent. “Hobson, it’s saying here that you’re engaged to Sergei Bachmann. Is that true?”
“What?” I pulled out my own smartphone. “Let me see.”
The reporter I’d met the day before had written a piece saying we were engaged but being tight-lipped about making an announcement. She had even managed to take a picture of the ring on my finger.
Alice gasped and grabbed my wrist. “How many carats is that?”
I slipped my hand under the table. “I didn’t ask.”
While I ate my coo
ked breakfast, people from other tables passed by to gape at the ring. Anxiety surged through my belly. If anyone knew about jewelry, they might work out the diamond was a fake.
“We’re playing Hawthorn House today at rugby,” said Alice. “Everyone’s going to give their support. Want to come with us?”
“Umm…” I stared down at my plate. The last thing I wanted to see was Henry running about a field half-dressed. But with everyone out of the house, it would be a perfect opportunity to plant some cameras. I’d placed a few in the common room after lights-out, but Jackie had complained that they hadn’t been positioned well enough to get any decent footage. I glanced up at Alice’s face. “Actually, I need to stay behind to catch up on my prep.”
After Saturday classes, I headed for the common room. The triumvirate preferred to hold court at the leather sofas closest to the fire. I lifted the camera I’d placed next to the clock on the mantle and glanced around for a better vantage point. If I could screw the device to the wall and tilt it downward, I’d get an amazing view of whoever sat on the sofa. I glanced at the sash window on the right. Any of the sills might work if nobody tried to open it.
The door clicked open, and Blake sauntered in with his hands in his pockets, looking like he was strolling into a yacht. His black hair hung about his temples, making his chocolate brown eyes stand out. He wore a shirt closely fitted to show off the contours of his chest, unbuttoned to the sternum to offer tantalizing glimpses of tanned skin. My heart stopped, and I stuffed the camera in the pocket of my denim jacket.
“You’re not fooling anyone.” He sauntered over with a lazy half smile.
I sucked in a breath through tightening lungs and backed away. Jackie’s idea for me to install the cameras had been a horrible idea. Students hardly got the opportunity to tamper with walls unmolested, as there was always someone hanging about and asking awkward questions.
I headed through a row of sofas toward the door on the far side of the common room. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”