by Sofia Daniel
“Henry told me as much,” I murmured.
“Now the palace has labeled me a drug addict to save face.”
“Do they believe your side of the story?” I shooed away a little first year who jogged up with a scrap of paper for an autograph, dared to by his giggling friends.
“The aide I spoke to said it didn’t matter who said what. I shouldn’t have repeated it in public. He was livid that someone had placed a recording device in our common room and has written to the headmaster, demanding answers.”
My heart thudded in my chest, and I let out a long breath. Even if someone swept the room for hidden devices, they couldn’t be traced back to me. Not when they’d been set up by Mr. Carbuncle.
We rounded the building and walked into a courtyard with a circular lawn. Around it grew winter jasmine shrubs. A glossy evergreen plant laden with thick white flowers climbed over all the walls. It was the kind of garden that was pleasant in winter but would look spectacular in the summer.
I shook my head. “Everyone’s got smartphones these days. Even Charlotte.”
His handsome features twisted. “She did this.”
My brows drew together. As much as I wanted Charlotte shunned, it couldn’t be for something she hadn’t done. “Are you sure? What would she have to gain?”
“You heard me admit to broadcasting her blow job video. This is her revenge.”
“How did you even get hold of that recording?” I asked. “That evening, when I hid under the common room table, I dropped my phone the moment I realized what you two were doing.”
He smirked. “You were probably too fixated on my cock to notice my other hand. It was holding the smartphone. Charlotte always closes her eyes when she sucks me off… Something to do with her gag reflex not working if she multitasks. She isn’t exactly the brightest of girls.”
My stomach dropped. The more I got to know of him, the more I wanted him ruined. “Why did you set things up to make it look like I’d broadcasted the video?”
He grimaced. “Sorry about that… Before I became friends with Edward and Henry, Charlotte made my life here miserable. Even though she’s forgotten about it, I never have.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you framed me.”
“I thought it would hurt her more if the video came from someone she saw as a threat.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “You must have known she would go psycho.”
“She has never attacked anyone in the six years I’ve known her.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and turned on the pleading eyes. “I thought she would rush out of the campsite in tears.”
My nostrils flared, but I held my tongue. We were even now. Sort of. Even if Elder House saw Blake as some kind of hero, the rest of the country thought he was a scheming braggart and a drug addict. That had to be worse than Charlotte’s kick to my guts and a mug of hot cocoa in the face.
I took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. In my most soothing voice, I said, “Sorry that this happened. I know what it’s like to be slandered, and it isn’t pleasant.”
He squeezed back, likely too upset to take the hint. “Thanks for sticking by me.”
“Anytime.” I pulled him into an alcove and cupped his cheeks with both hands. “Anytime the pressure of being the royal family’s fall guy becomes too much, speak to me.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist. “This is nice.”
“Hmmm?” I smiled into his soft gaze.
“Talking to you like this. I’ve only ever felt close to Henry and Edward.”
I ran my thumb over his high cheekbone. After seeing footage of his stunning mother, I could understand how he got those handsome looks. He stared down at me with hooded eyes the color of molten chocolate.
A spasm of desire rippled through my heart. Blake had one of those faces that could make a girl fall into a stupor of lust and fascination. It was no wonder Charlotte had forgotten their tumultuous past. Before I let him mesmerize me, I raised myself to my tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead.
Blake sighed and pulled me into his body, engulfing me in his sandalwood and spice scent. To make my facade of offering comfort complete, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
The comfort of his larger frame and strong muscles was deceptive. Why hadn’t he confided in me that the kidnappers weren’t a danger because Henry had arranged the entire abduction? I might have raged at them for a few days, but would never have gone behind their backs and called the police. Blake must have known that his flippant answer to my worries would never have convinced me of Henry’s safety.
“You feel so good,” he murmured into my neck.
“This is perfect,” I lied.
Even though Blake had hurt me tremendously, my chest twinged with guilt. I was the biggest hypocrite, standing there, giving him comfort over something I had set into motion, but I had to follow through on this plan. Not only did Rudolph expect it, but I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t rest until I’d completed my revenge against the triumvirate.
The following week, a courier brought a dozen red roses to the head table. A hush fell across the dining room, and I glanced at Blake, wondering if they had come from him. He shook his head. A bulky envelope accompanied the roses, and when I opened it, a dozen invitations spilled out. I smiled. Jackie had organized this and hired Sergei to play, making it look like he’d sent the invitations and roses.
ST VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE BALL
Penthouse Suite - Waterloo Towers
Performance by Sergei Bachmann
Admits __________________ plus guest
Dress code: fancy dress
RSVP [email protected]
Edward took an invitation. “Why’s Bachmann sending you invitations to a ball? I thought you would have broken up with him by now.”
“You’re still wearing his engagement ring.” Henry took an invitation and turned it around in his fingers.
“Let’s have a look.” Blake reached over and grabbed one. “Why’s he inviting you to a Valentine’s ball?”
“Will you three stop whining?” I snapped. “A single date isn’t enough for any girl to throw away an engagement to a sexy, musical genius. I said I’d give you a chance, not my future.”
Blake snorted into his tea. “I distinctly heard you cry out that you’d give us everything.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Obviously, your ears were muffled by my thighs because I said nothing of the sort.”
Henry snickered and bit down on his toast, while Edward smiled.
“A man knows these things from the cadence of a woman’s cries.” Blake placed down his cup and waggled his eyebrows.
“Right.” I held out my hand. “I’ll take those back, please.”
Henry slipped the invitation he stole into the inside pocket of his blazer. “I’m holding onto this.”
“Me, too,” said Blake.
I turned to Edward. “We only need two invitations between the four of us.”
“This one is for Paul.” He tapped the invitation.
“Paul who?”
“Mr. Frost, the Latin master.”
A breath caught in the back of my throat. This was too good to be true. A teacher getting drunk with students wasn’t on the same magnitude as Mr. Carbuncle’s activities with sixth form girls, but it would be satisfying to embarrass Mr. Frost for a change. I eyed Edward. Had he said that as a test? The natural reaction to a suggestion like that was resistance, so I folded my arms across my chest. “Why him?”
“He’s the best source for anything,” said Blake. “Always has been.”
I smiled. “What kind of things?”
Henry batted my nose. “You’ll find out.”
I didn’t push the issue. Jackie would place cameras all over the apartment and capture Mr. Frost supplying students with alcohol or worse. “As long as he has absinthe, I don’t care.”
Blake leaned forward. “The off-license in the village stocks absinthe, I can get—”
Later that day, Alice and I sat together in Creative Writing, the only class I didn’t share with any of the triumvirate.
She gave me a nudge on the arm. “Who bought you the roses?”
“Sergei.” I pulled out an invitation to the Valentine’s ball. “This is the singles’ event I was telling you about.”
“Is that for me?”
I fanned myself with the invitation. “On two conditions.”
“What are they?” Her voice became breathy.
“One. Take a photo of it and place it on the Mercia-Net.”
“Why?”
I smirked. “How mad would Charlotte and the others get to know you’d been invited and they hadn’t?”
“Oh, great!” She rubbed her hands together. “What’s the other condition?”
“Nothing glamorous,” I replied. “Could you start a post on International House, asking people to comment with examples of the students flouting the rules? I tried to speak to the headmaster about all the noise, but he didn’t believe me.”
Her lips tightened. “If he ever left that office of his, he’d see the evidence with his own eyes. Some of those men look like gangsters. The first years are terrified!”
I shrugged. “He can see the photos and recordings on the Mercia-Net. If we overwhelm him with facts, he’ll have to do something, right?”
Alice pulled the invitation out from my fingers. “Consider them done.”
Later that night, I checked in with Jackie to let her know I’d received the invitations, and she told me the email address had already received thirty messages from people claiming to be my close friend who needed an invitation. Some of the names came from members of prominent families in the United Kingdom. Alice’s posting of the invitation to the Mercia-Net had worked.
I ran my hands through my hair and stared into the bathroom mirror. This would be a massacre of epic proportions.
With only a few weeks to go before the Valentine’s Day party, I focused on my schoolwork and on getting to know each member of the triumvirate as individuals. Blake continued to be miserable about falling into disfavor with the royal family, and no matter how much we talked about the unfairness of him taking the blame for something his stepfather had said, it didn’t dawn on him that he and his friends had done far worse to me.
It hurt my heart to spend time with Henry. I’d become so close to him, yet what had brought us together hadn’t even been real. Those nights I’d spent in that terrible room, eating awful food, and being frightened out of my mind had been a facade. No matter how much he said he needed to atone, I couldn’t forgive him until we were even. The kidnapping had been bad. I might have been able to let that go, but I’d never respect myself if I didn’t punish him for framing me for his own crime.
The only member of the triumvirate I could stand was Edward. Perhaps it was because he had mostly shown his true colors from the start. And because he appreciated more than the other two that it would take time for things to heal between us. Unlike Blake and Henry, he didn’t push for intimacy, just understanding.
A number of sixth-formers in both Elder and Hawthorn house approached me for tickets. I had nine remaining from what the triumvirate stole, and I wanted to ensure that the most deserving got the chance to be caught on camera doing something scandalous. I made sure to give the tickets to those I recognized from the gauntlet. Those who had been the vilest and cruelest. Those who had the nerve to pretend friendship when they would easily tear me apart at the barest provocation.
One Saturday after classes, we sat in Edward’s study, reading through the Correspondent. I lay on one of the Chesterfield sofas, resting my head on Henry’s lap with my bare feet on Blake’s. Edward sat behind his desk with his feet up, reading Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. Today’s edition featured an exposé on Patricia’s aunt, who worked in the Home Office, yet was having an affair with a man who had entered England illegally. The reporters had even tracked them down to a hotel she had paid for with her government credit card.
“I don’t know where all this information is coming from?” asked Henry.
“Charlotte,” replied Blake. “Patricia confides in no one else.”
Edward leaned back on his desk chair and folded his copy of the paper. “What should we do about her?”
“We could have her head shaved.” Blake ran his thumb along the sole of my foot, making me arch my back. “It was very popular in France after World War Two.”
“You can’t do that,” I gasped out.
“Why not?” asked Henry. “She’s done a damned sight worse to you.”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Firstly, you don’t know who is sending information to the newspapers, and secondly, it’s too extreme.”
Blake stopped massaging my feet. “I spent an entire week in rehab. Do you know what they had me doing? Group discussions half the time and one-to-one counseling for the rest of my stay. It was hell.”
I clenched my teeth. “Try spending a week in a basement room with only a sandwich and a bottle of Evian for company.”
They all fell silent. It was becoming a pattern. Blake would complain about the injustice he’d suffered, and then I would remind them of what they had inflicted on me. Then awkwardness would ensue. It was as if there was another party involved who they didn’t want to expose. My jaws clenched with determination. If I worked on them individually, one of them would let something slip.
My shoulders slumped back into the leather sofa. Part of me longed for the days after the kidnapping when we were becoming closer, when I was oblivious to the terrible scheme they had hatched. At times, I looked at the boys for signs of true repentance, but it seemed that Blake and Henry just wanted me to forget about what they had done, so we could all start having sex.
“When are you seeing Sergei Bachmann next?” Henry twirled a lock of my hair with his fingers.
“Do you want to come along?” I stared up into his green eyes.
“You’ve been spending most of your free time with us,” said Blake. “He’s unwanted baggage that needs ditching.”
My lips quirked into a tiny smile. They were jealous. “I plan on cooling it off with him at the party.”
Edward peered at me over the top of his novel. “On Valentine’s day? That will be fun.”
“We should go shopping for your costume,” said Henry. “Something red for heartbreak would be apt.”
Blake’s hands wandered up my ankles and into my skinny jeans. I closed my eyes and sighed. Since that afternoon I’d told them to kiss my feet, I had been wearing jeans or pants whenever I visited Edward’s study. Henry and Blake seemed to want to rush intimacy, whereas I couldn’t afford to fall prey to my passion. Blake’s thumb rubbed the swell of my ankle, making me groan and pull my feet off his lap.
“I’ve already hired a costume.” A lazy grin crossed my face. Jackie had picked it out for me and said the boys would never be able to undo it in front of the cameras. No matter how much I begged.
Chapter 11
Valentine’s day fell on a Saturday this year. I left for London immediately after morning classes and caught the train to meet Jackie and her crew at Waterloo Towers, a high-rise building overlooking the River Thames. As soon as I walked through the door of the apartment, Jackie rushed at me with a box, not giving me time to marvel at the huge, open-plan room or its period furniture. “Your costume.”
I lifted the Marie Antoinette gown complete with a corset and pannier petticoat and bit my lip. “How do I put this on?”
“You can change in the bathroom.” Jackie ushered me and her new intern toward another door. “Hurry, as we have a lot to do before the party starts.”
“This way.” The intern, a tall, black girl with chin-length braids, gave me an ap
ologetic smile and opened the door, revealing a white, marble bathroom the size of the space I shared with Rita at the academy. “Tom needs to get away to double-check the sounds of all the cameras, but he wants to show you their locations before he leaves.”
She helped me into the underthings first, then the dress, then fastened up the bodice and secured it with a few stitches. Jackie must have told her about the boys and their roving hands.
“One more thing!” she rushed out of the room and returned with another box, containing a white wig and a lace mask. “Jackie wants you to wear these.”
Afterward, Tom walked me through the apartment, starting with the main room, which had a grand piano in the middle and could hold two-hundred guests. He pointed out the location of all the cameras there before showing me a passage away from the main room, where a bookshelf formed a hidden door into a boudoir with a four-poster bed.
Jackie leaned against a tall, wooden cabinet. “You must get that information about International House. Based on what people are posting on the Mercia-Net, some of the characters are unsavory and not suitable to be allowed anywhere near children.”
“Has anything happened?” I sat on the bed.
“Just a few thugs violently objecting to having their photos taken. The third year girls report that one creepy bastard keeps trying to strike up conversations. They’re traveling in packs, now.”
An unpleasant shudder ran down my spine. “What are the parents saying?”
“It’s hard to tell.” She coughed into her hand. “Everyone’s tip-toeing around the subject, including Edward Mercia.”
I nodded. “Yes, I noticed that too, but he just tells me to keep my distance and clams up whenever I bring up International House.”
She stepped away from the cabinet and opened the door, revealing a refrigerator filled with ice and champagne. “Get them in here and get them talking. Use the drinks to loosen their tongues. This room’s quiet, and we’ve fitted recording devices in the balcony in case you need to get Edward alone.”